Pretty Woman
by charliewo
Summary: Because everyone falls in love with a hooker at least once, right? (Crossover! Pretty Woman and Glee) Rated T but be aware that the movie is R (for sexual content).
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: All rights belong to Glee and the [never-gets-old-no-matter-how-many-times-you-watch -it] movie **_**Pretty Woman**_**.**

* * *

The house's bar was crowded with men in suits, Wall Street folk. The parties were usually like this; the men of money and women who wanted to hook them were the only people who showed up, because the host's real friends know better.

Something akin to jazz drifted over the lawn, trickling into the large house and wafting overhead of the party guests.

"Broke in right on the two of them," one of the guests said, smugly.

His buddy slapped him on the back, chuckling. "No matter what they say, it's all about money."

Puck broke between them, turning to the ladies on their arms. "So let's imagine, ladies, that you're a Savings and Loan officer. Watch." They leaned closer, and the other men began to frown. Puck put a coin under a few cups, and shuffles. "One, two, three. See?"

He gestured for them to pick, and winked. "You've got it all, and we've got nothin'. And you have all four. Take a look. – Oh!" He pulled up the cup they picked and grinned when they squealed at his trick. "But I wouldn't trust you with real gold. That's why this one's only worth about a penny."

"Hmm," one of the men grunted, annoyed that his date had fawned over a petty parlor trick.

Puck ignored him and continued. "And if you wonder where the other one went, watch." He reached over and snagged a coin from behind one of the women's ears, fingers lingering in curled, ginger hair.

One of the men turned to the other, and whispered, "A penny from the ear. How much for the rest?"

They both chuckled, not noticing that Puck had already walked off with their dates. It's the only reason he came to these parties, anyway. His Jewbabe had hot party guests.

Finn bumped into him, looking frazzled. "Have you seen Rachel?"

Puck shrugged. "No, I haven't. Great party, dude."

"Yeah, as usual," Finn replied, before moving further into the crowded room to look for the party host.

On the way, he stopped short. One of their biggest sponsors had shown up, and at this rate, Rachel most likely hadn't thanked him, let alone made an appearance. He sighed. He had to do everything around here. "Excuse me, Emma. Mr. Schue, how are you?"

Will smiled and shook his hand. "Finn, good. Hey, I understand Rachel's directing a Hollywood musical."

"Yeah, well, she's not here to get a suntan," Finn said, grinning.

"Can I get in on it?"

He hesitated. "Yeah. Call me."

"When?"

Finn shrugged. "Just call me."

"Where's the guest of honor?" Mr. Schue asks, glancing around the room.

Finn shifted. "She's probably off in a corner somewhere charming a very pretty lady."

God, he didn't get paid enough for this shit.

* * *

"I told my secretary to make the arrangements. Didn't she call you?" Rachel's brow furrowed as she looked down over the lawn, which was speckled with random guests. She was late to her own party, she knew this, but Finn really should have let her cancel it. She wasn't in the mood to entertain the sponsor puppets.

She sighed and returned her attention back to the woman on the phone, who had just finished an angry outburst. _"I speak to your secretary more than I speak to you."_

"I see." Rachel rolled her eyes. What an exaggeration. That had to be an exaggeration, right?

_"I have my own life too, you know, Rachel." _

Rachel frowned. "This is a very important week for me. I need you here."

_"But you never give me any notice. You just think I'm at your beck and call."_

"I do not believe that you are at my beck and call," Rachel said, and began twisting at the phone cord.

_"Well, that's the way you always make me feel." _There was a pause, and Rachel knew what was coming. "_Maybe I should just move out."_

"If that's what you want, yes," Rachel replied. The words stung each time, though she knew her relationships had a four week expiration date. It was only a matter of time until it soured, and this one had just reached that point.

_"All right, when you get back to New York, we'll discuss it."_

Rachel leaned against the wall. "Now is as good a time as any."

There was an indignant huff. _"That's fine with me, Rachel. Good-bye."_

The call ended after a loud bang, which she assumed had been her now ex-girlfriend slamming the phone down. "Good-bye, Jessica."

She gingerly placed down the phone, and glanced back out the window, figuring she might as well make her way down now. Maybe everyone would be drunk enough by now, and she could slip under the radar.

* * *

Did she walk under a ladder earlier? Have a black cat yowl at her? Knock over the salt shaker last Friday?

Because fortune was just not on her side lately.

At the moment, she had one of her sponsors arguing with her about having a part in her Hollywood project, which she couldn't remember offering him. Was he an important sponsor? Could she just say no and walk away?

"Finn suggested that maybe I could–"

"Finn is just my lawyer, okay?" Rachel snapped, and shoved past him.

"Hello, Ms. Berry."

Rachel paused to smile gratefully at her assistant. "Hi. How are you doing? I want this whole thing..." she gestured at the Californian mansion, "wrapped up as soon as possible; I gotta get to New York by Sunday. I got tickets to the Metropolitan."

She had to make a quick trip back to the city. There was nothing wrong with California, per se, it just wasn't New York. Broadway was calling her name, and she was beginning to regret agreeing to this project. However, with a little vacation back to one of the greatest art displays and cultural capitals, Rachel figured it could hold her for another two months. Just the amount of time left in Hollywood. Not that she was keeping track of the days, hours, and minutes.

"Yes, ma'am."

_Finally, someone who listens!_ Rachel nodded a goodbye, and walked over to the garage. One of the doormen followed her out. "Your coat, Ms. Berry."

"Thank you," Rachel replied, stopping to shrug on the jacket.

"Rachel!"

The brunette turned to see an old ex, and smiled. "Kitty! Hi."

"Hi."

They kissed cheeks, and Rachel placed a hand on her shoulder gently. "I was sorry to hear about Carter."

The blonde looked down at her feet. "Oh, yeah. Thanks."

"Heard you got married."

Kitty smirked. "Well... yeah. I couldn't wait for you!"

Rachel chuckled. "Mmm. Kitty, tell me something."

"Yes?"

"When you and I were dating, did you speak to my secretary more than you spoke to me?"

Kitty rolled her eyes. "She was one of my bridesmaids."

"Hmm." Rachel furrowed her brow before focusing back on Kitty with a smile. "Your husband's a very lucky guy. I'll see you around."

Kitty smiled. "Thanks, bye."

Glancing out at a crammed driveway, Rachel turned to one of the valet workers and pointed to one of the vehicles at the end. "ls that Mr. Hudson's car?"

As if summoned by name, Finn popped up behind her. "Rachel, where you goin'?"

The brunette ignored him. "You got the keys to your car?"

"Why, what's wrong with the limo?" He fiddled with his pockets.

How is he a lawyer, again? "Look, the limo is buried back there. Darryl can't get it out."

"Uhm." He looked uncertain.

Rachel narrowed her eyes. "Please give me the keys."

"Alright, look," Finn handed her the keys, opening the car door as she slid in. "I don't think you should drive. You're a little excited. Don't drive my car."

She twisted the key in the ignition and grinned as it purred.

"Let me work something out here." Finn stepped back. "Fellas, what kind of a system is this? Can you move these cars out of here?"

"Look, Rachel," Finn said, giving up when none of the workers spared him a glance.

Rachel fiddled with the radio.

"Rachel." She looked up at him. "Uh, are you familiar with a stick shift?"

"Uhm, yeah," she muttered. _No, never._

"Have you driven a shift? Listen, all right."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Yeah. Yeah."

He gave her a few basic instructions then bit his lip, uneasy. "Just be ginger with it. It's a new car. Don't, uh—" Rachel twisted the stick shift, and the gears clashed. "Just don't—" She did it again and he cringed, glaring at her.

She threw up her hands innocently. "Okay. I can do it."

The brunette backed out of the driveway and revved the car as it moved forward. The tires pealed. Finn clenched his fist. "Rachel! Give me a break, please!"

Rachel could faintly hear his last few shouts, but she was no longer paying any attention. "You're gonna get lost in the dark! Beverly Hills is down the hill!"


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: All rights belong to the writers, cast, and crew of Glee and **_**Pretty Woman.**_

* * *

"Now, wait a minute. You don't seem to understand me."

The blonde paused on the stairway, peering over the rail to see who was out in the hall. It was one of the seeder people that rented out a flat, and the infamous landlord had him backed against the wall, hands up and pleading.

She shrunk away and bit her lip, realizing she would be his next victim. When was the last time they had paid their rent? Had Santana done it?

"That's my job," the landlord said, gruffly. "At the end of the month, I collect everybody's rent. Now give me the money, or you're outta here."

She backtracked to her room, checking the cash box they hid in the toilet only to find it empty. Cursing under her breath and planning on exacting revenge on San when she next saw her, the blonde heard a knock on the door and rushed over to the window, dropping out onto the fire escape, and scaled down the ladder, jumping the last platform to the ground.

For a landlord, he really wasn't too bright. He should have barred the window or something, because she definitely wasn't the first to use that avoidance tactic and she wouldn't be the last, either.

Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she made her way down a few blocks and into the bar she knew she'd find Santana in. The fresh air began to wake her up, and she wondered if her roommate had come home at all. Then again, it was now six at night. This city had turned them both nocturnal.

"Welcome to Hollywood!"

She jumped a little, but smiled at the man when he waved around a sign. He winked at her. "Everybody comes to Hollywood got a dream. What's your dream? What's your dream?" He turned to another passerby. "Hey, mister? Hey, what's your dream?"

How was she supposed to know what she wanted? No one had dreams in this area. No one could _afford_ to have dreams on these streets, the backyard of Hollywood.

"Detective Albertson. What happened?"

Quinn glanced into the alleyway, seeing a couple cops flashing badges and questioning a witness over chalk lines.

"Some chick. She bought it over there."

"What do you know about that girl?" the detective asked.

The witness shrugged. "I tell you, man. I don't know who she hang with."

"C'mon, guy. We just pulled her out of a Dumpster in the back. Who was her pimp?"

"Cocaine her pimp. She a strawberry." The guy glanced around. "She be out on these streets day in, day out, tradin' her sorry self for some crack."

The cop sighed. "And what do you do?"

"I cool," he said, throwing his hands up.

The blonde grimaced, forcing herself to walk away. Another sister down. How many would it take before she was next? Would she give it up in time?

"Hey, hey, hey! Excuse me!" The detective rounded on a family snapping photos. "Excuse me! What are you, from the press?"

"No, no. We're from Orlando," the wife responded, laughing.

The cop groaned. "Oh, I don't believe this. Do you—I got tourists photographing the body, Al."

The blonde shot the family a glare as she brushed past them. Seriously? That's how they do in Orlando? The Hills might have its faults, but at least everyone kept their distance from a scene that still had fresh chalk.

Stepping into the smoky bar, she stepped towards the bartender. "Hey, Pops, has Santana been in here?"

He nodded. "Upstairs in the poolroom."

She thanked him and turned to the stairway, making her way up.

"_Ey_, Quinn!" The blonde glanced up to see a still-drunk Santana barreling over to her with outstretched arms. She caught her roommate and tried to steady her. The brunette turned to the group of people with her.

Quinn scowled. "Is it all gone?"

San bit her lip and pointed to a guy leaning on a railing. "Israel, you know my roommate, Quinn." She nodded at the other guy sitting next to him with a joint. "This is Angel. That's the dude—"

"I know everybody!" Quinn snapped. "ls it all gone, S?"

The brunette backed away from her. "Israel sold me some great shit. We just had this party. I was the hostess."

"I can't believe you bought drugs with our rent," Quinn said, incredulous. "What is goin' on with you, San?"

The brunette shrugged. "I needed a little pick-me-up."

"Well, we need rent money!"

"Oh, calm down, _chica_."

"She only owes me a couple hundred more," Israel said.

Santana narrowed her eyes at him.

"Another two hundred dollars?" Quinn asks, glaring at her roommate.

"That was from way before," San protests.

"That's right," Israel clarifies, and turns to the blonde, eyeing her. "But if you wanna work off her money with me, we can work something out."

Santana rolls her eyes. "That's a very sweet offer, Israel, but not now."

Quinn stiffened under the frizzy haired guy's stare, ready to use him as a human punching bag if necessary.

"Come on, Q. Come downstairs." The brunette tugged at her arm and Quinn shot Israel one last glare before following her roommate to the bar.

"You took it while I was sleeping?" she asked, staring straight ahead.

Santana glanced at her. "You were unavailable for consultation. Besides, it's my apartment."

"Yeah, well, I have to live there too, S."

"Look, you came here," Santana pointed out. "I gave you some money. I gave you a place to stay... and some valuable vocational advice."

They both chuckled.

"He was on my case. I had to give him something," Santana finished, popping a peanut into her mouth. "So don't irritate me."

"Irritate you?" Quinn repeated, frowning. "I just saw a girl pulled out of a dumpster."

Santana sighed. "I know. Skinny Marie. But... she was a—a flake. She was a crack head. Dominic was trying to straighten her out for months."

A glass shattered against a wall and there was a skirmish next to the counter, which the bartender attempted to break up before getting shoved away. They watched it for a beat, quiet.

"Don't you want to get outta here?" Quinn murmured.

"Get outta where?" Santana said, her eyes turning cold. "Where the fuck you wanna go?"

Quinn set her jaw, regretting the question, strode out of the dimly lit joint. Santana followed her out, regardless, blinking against a setting sun.

The two of them walked a few blocks, before reaching their street. They took up their usual post, and Quinn lit a cigarette as she leaned against a building, watching Santana scare away any trespassers.

"Hey, _hola_, Tina."

"What?"

Santana smirked at her. "Yeah. You see the stars on the sidewalk, babe?

The woman glanced down, looking bored. "Yeah."

"Well, Quinn and me, we work Bob Hope, we work the Ritz Brothers, we work Fred Astaire, we work all the way down to Ella Fitzgerald." She sauntered up to the stray prostitute, making it clear that she wasn't going to move. The other woman backed up a little. "This is our turf. We got seniority. You better get off our corner."

"Forgive me. I was just takin' a rest here. I'm new."

"Yeah. Well, I'm old, so go rest up by Monty Hall or Esther Wilson."

"Williams," Quinn corrected absentmindedly.

"Esther Williams! Where you belong."

The younger woman slunk away, and Quinn pushed off the wall. She joined San on the sidewalk, eyeing the cars as they passed. "You know, you're really becoming a grouch."

She snorted. "Am I really a grouch?"

"Yes. Sometimes."

"Well, just 'cause I'm hungry. I'm gonna go get something to eat."

A car honked at them and some sweaty guy hung out the window. "Hey, girls!"

Quinn crinkled her nose, but Santana winked, playing her part. "Hey, yo, baby!"

"How about a freebie? It's my birthday."

Santana swore and flipped them off. "Dream on!"

Quinn laughed, then sighed. "It's lookin' really slow tonight."

"Yeah, well... maybe we should get a pimp, you know. Israel really digs you."

"And then he'll run our lives and take our money," Quinn said, pointedly. "No."

"You're right. We say who, we say when, we say how much."

Quinn nodded, and tussled the pink streaks in her hair. "Do you think it's too rebel?"

Santana looked her over. "No! I love this look. It's very punk. It's sexy."

The sound of brakes screeching distracted them, and Santana laughed. "Oh, yo, oh, yo. Catch this!"

The sports car was stopping short and jamming, and the (incompetent) driver pulled over to the side as the gears ground against each other.

Quinn squinted at it. "Wait a minute. That's a Lotus Esprit."

"No, that's rent," Santana said, smirking. "You should go for him. You look hot tonight."

Quinn nodded, and began to make her way over to the stalled car.

"Don't take less than a hundred. Call me when you're through," Santana called after her. "Take care of you!"

Quinn tapped her heart. "Take care of you."

The blonde took in a deep breath, running her hand through her choppy locks before shrugging off her coat, letting her now visible hips take over, swinging her weight side to side and gliding across the pavement.

She made it a point to have her exposed skin in view as she approached the sports car, waiting until the very last minute to bend over.

But when she leaned into the car window, she realized two things.

One, the driver had missed the entire show. Two, the driver was a woman.

Way to reinforce the stereotype of terrible drivers, lady. The tiny brunette was almost too small to reach the pedals of a car clearly meant for a tall man, and was looking out of place in a striped, collared shirt and a short skirt with matching black heels. It wasn't exactly what people wore around here, and Quinn wrote her off as a tourist almost immediately.

The blonde raised an eyebrow, watching amused as the woman muttered to herself, fiddling with the stick shift. "Yes, you can handle this. First is here somewhere."

The car made an awful screeching sound, and the driver cringed, before noticing Quinn's presence. Big brown eyes trapped hazel, and they were locked in a gaze for a moment before the blonde cleared her throat, remembering why exactly she had approached the car.

"Hey, sugar, you lookin' for a date?"


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:**** All rights belong to the writers, cast, and crew of Glee and **_**Pretty Woman.**_

_Previously: _

_The car made an awful screeching sound, and the driver grimaced, before noticing Quinn's presence. Big brown eyes trapped hazel, and they were locked in a gaze for a moment, before the blonde cleared her throat, remembering why exactly she had approached the car._

_ "Hey, sugar, you lookin' for a date?"_

* * *

Rachel bit her lip, staring the woman with choppy blonde locks. Who would put streaks of pink through hair like that? People dyed—_died_—for that shade of bottle blonde. Maybe it was a rebellious move. Maybe it was a wig. Maybe it was daddy problems. Or maybe, it was an act.

The blonde arched her eyebrow, looking amused.

Rachel huffed. "No, I want to find Beverly Hills. Can you give me directions?"

"Sure," she drawled. "For five bucks."

"Ridiculous."

"Price just went up to ten."

Rachel threw her hands up. "You can't charge me for directions."

The blonde smirked. "I can do anything I want to, baby. I ain't lost."

"All right, okay?" Rachel turned to dig into her bag, pulling out a thin bill. "All right. You win, I lose. Got change for a twenty?"

The woman snatched it out of her hand with a grin, slipping into the car. "For twenty I'll show you personal. Even show you where the stars live."

"Oh, that's all right. I've already been to Stallone's."

She smiled. "Right. Uh, down the street."

Rachel nodded and returned her attention to the stick shift, cursing under her breath when the woman beside her stifled a chuckle.

"Hey, where you goin', baby?" Some guy said, nearing the car.

The blonde glanced at the figure and tensed. "Uh, let's go."

"I'm going," the brunette muttered.

"Quinn!"

"Go!" she shouted, and Rachel jumped, hitting the gas pedal and peeling out.

"Lights! Lights would be good here," the woman reminded her, reaching over to flip a switch. Rachel shivered when their skin brushed.

She glanced back in the rearview mirror at the man on the sidewalk, wondering what kind of trouble the woman was involved in. Maybe the pink wasn't a mask. "I guess this is not the greatest time to be a hooker, is it?"

The blonde rolled her eyes. "Look, I use condoms always. I get checked out once a month at the free clinic."

Rachel nodded, shifting gears. There. This wasn't so hard.

"Not only am I better in the sack than an amateur, I am probably safer."

"I like that. That's good." She shifted again and the car shrieked at her. Rachel frowned, choosing to ignore the whole ordeal. "Should have that printed on your business card."

The woman faced her. "If you're makin' fun of me, I don't like it."

"No, I'm not making fun of you." She glanced at the blonde, who stared out the window, unconvinced. "No, I'm not making—I'm not. I wouldn't offend you. I'm sorry."

The woman shrugged.

Rachel sighed, and fiddled with the radio before leaving it on a random station, just for some white noise. After a few stop lights, she tried again.

"What's your name?"

She quirked an eyebrow. "What do you want it to be?"

Rachel laughed. "Really?"

The blonde bit her lip, hesitating. "Quinn. My name is Quinn."

"Quinn," Rachel repeated, satisfied. It had a nice ring to it. She was right to guard it from sleaze bag clients.

"So, what hotel you stayin' at?"

"The, uh, Regent Beverly Wilshire."

"Down the block, right at the corner."

Rachel fought with the gear as she turned the corner, and it growled at her again. She sighed, wishing she could just teleport there.

"Man, this baby must corner like it's on rails!"

Rachel looked over to see Quinn on the edge of the leather seat, with a small smile of appreciation for the car. She ran her hands over the dashboard, the smile growing ever so slightly. The brunette raised her eyebrow, surprised. "I beg your pardon?"

Quinn matched her stare. "Well, doesn't it blow your mind? This is only four cylinders."

Rachel shifted and watched the blonde's face crinkle, as if in pain, when the gears screeched. "You know about cars. Where did that come from?"

She shrugged. "Road and Track. The boys back home I grew up with, they were really into American heavy metal: Mustangs, Corvettes."

"Ah."

"They bought 'em cheap and fixed 'em up. I paid attention." Quinn ran her eyes along the brunette's form. "So how is it you know so little about cars?"

Rachel blushed. "My first car was a limousine."

"Oh."

"So where is this," the gears clashed again, and Rachel grunted, before continuing, "heavy metal home?"

"Millage Ville, Georgia." The blonde glanced behind them, smirking. "You know, I think you left your transmission back there."

Rachel huffed.

"You're not shifting right. This is a standard H."

The brunette rolled her eyes."Standard H. Like I know what that means."

Quinn laughed.

"Have you ever driven a Lotus?" Rachel asked, slowing the car.

"No," Quinn replied, exhaling.

She pulled over, and unbuckled her seatbelt. "You're gonna start right now."

"You're joking."

"No. It's the only way I can get you off my coat." Rachel smirked, before stepping out of the car and trading seats with the blonde.

They settled in their new seats, and Quinn gripped the steering wheel, committing the grooves to memory.

"Fasten your seat belts," she said, and winked. "I am taking you for the ride of your life."

Rachel smiled in return, clicking the belt into place.

"I'm gonna show you what this car can really do. Are you ready?"

"I'm ready."

"Hang on."

"Okay."

"Here we go."

The blonde smirked when the Lotus purred under her and swiftly shifted out onto the road. Rachel's heart fluttered, and she gripped the side of the seat discreetly for support.

"This has pedals like a race car. They're really close together," Quinn explained. "So it's probably easier for women to drive, 'cause they have little feet. Well, except me. I wear a size nine." She glanced at Rachel. "You know your foot's as big as your arm from your elbow to your wrist?" The blonde chuckled, as if she were hearing it for the first time. "Did you know that?"

Rachel couldn't help but laugh with her. "No, I didn't know that."

"It's a little bit of trivia."

They sped down a few more streets until Rachel spoke up again. "Tell me, what kind of—what kind of money you girls make these days?"

"Ballpark?" Quinn asked, and continued at the brunette's nod. "Can't take less than a hundred."

"A hundred dollars a night." Rachel hummed.

Quinn snorted. "For an hour."

"An hour?" Rachel's eyes widened. "You make $100 an hour and you got a safety pin holding your boot up? You got to be joking."

"I never joke about money."

"Neither do I," Rachel said. "Hundred dollars an hour. Pretty stiff.

"Well, no. But it's got potential." Quinn pulled into the hotel's archway, grinding the gears to a halt with sudden pressure on the breaks. The valet men exchanged looks, surprised, as one of them moved to open the doors.

"Good evening, Ms. Berry. Will you be needing the car anymore tonight?"

Rachel glanced at Quinn before laughing. "I hope not!"

The valet took the car away, leaving the two standing by a bench. Rachel cleared her throat. "Ah. We're here."

Quinn rocked back on her heels. "Yeah."

"So you'll be all right?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna grab a cab with my twenty bucks." Quinn waved the bill.

Rachel smiled. "Go back to your office."

"Yeah," Quinn said, laughing. "My office. Yeah."

"Well, thanks for the ride," Rachel said, backing away a few steps. "See you."

"Good-bye."

Rachel watched as the blonde stepped out of the lit area, into the dark night. What was someone like that doing as a hooker? How had she ended up on the trashy streets of Hollywood, trolling for creepy douche bags and cheating husbands with potbellies? What caused her to drift away from Georgia, the heart of the Bible belt south?

The thought made Rachel smile a little. Seriously, how had someone with those morals resulted in someone like Quinn? A rebellious ex-Church-goer, who sold herself just to get by. A guarded woman who grew emotional about gears and pumps and horsepower.

A blonde that lived in the shadow of angels.

Would she be okay, gong back? What about the man who had called after her?

She blinked a few times, and checked her watch. It had been ten minutes since Quinn had walked off, ten minutes since she should have checked into her room.

But something pulled her around the corner, and she peered into the darkness. There was a faint outline of someone perched on a bench. Rachel found her feet moving her towards the figure without any thinking.

It was Quinn.

Rachel paused a few steps away. "No taxis?"

The blonde looked over her shoulder, and smiled. "No, I like the bus."

Rachel hesitated. "I was thinking—did you really say a hundred dollars an hour?"

Quinn raised an eyebrow. "Yeah."

"Yeah," Rachel breathed, not believing what she was about to do. "Well, if you don't have any prior engagements, I'd be very pleased if you would accompany me into the hotel."

"You got it." The blonde hopped off the bench and took Rachel's offered arm, laughing. "What's your name?"

"Rachel."

"Rachel. That's my favorite name in the whole world!"

"No!" Rachel said, chuckling.

Quinn tapped her nose. "I tell you what, this is fate, Rachel. That's what this is."

Rachel shook her head, smiling. She handed Quinn her spare pea coat. "Why don't you put this on?"

Quinn frowned. "Why?"

"Well, this hotel is not the kind of establishment that rents rooms by the hour," Rachel said, biting her lip.

"Ah," the blonde said, putting on the coat. It was a little small on her, but fit nicely. She followed Rachel into the building, smoothing the fabric and sticking her hands in the pockets. When she looked up, the architecture hit her. Above their heads was a giant ceiling, seemingly carved from colored marble. The stonework composed the entire lobby, with its grand columns and elegant arches. There was even a marble fountain. Right there in the middle of it all.

"Wow!" Quinn murmured, pulling the coat tighter around her.

Rachel took the blonde's hand out of the pocket, smiling warmly. "It's all right."

"Holy shit."

"You're gonna be fine." Rachel squeezed her hand before letting go, moving toward the front desk. "Come with me. And stop fidgeting."

Quinn ran a hand through her hair, leaning against the wall by the desk.

The woman at the desk eyed the blonde before refocusing on Rachel. "Good evening, Ms. Berry."

"Hello. You have messages?"

Quinn glared down the other occupants as they looked her way.

The receptionist flipped through a few files and nodded, handing over the notes. "Yes, we have several."

"Thank you," Rachel said, and tapped the counter. "Could you send up some champagne and strawberries, please?"

"Of course," the woman said, and glanced at Quinn again, whose coat had fallen open to expose some revealing clothing. The blonde glanced down and blushed, tugging at the coat. Rachel cleared her throat, gaining Quinn's attention, and walked off to the elevator.

The receptionist picked up the phone and pressed a number, watching the odd pair leave. "Room service for Ms. Berry, please."

As they waited for the doors to slide open, an elderly, well-to-do couple approached the elevator and waited off to the side. The husband fixed his stare on the gold doors, knowing what would happen if he looked the hooker's way even so slightly. His wife, who would berate him for taking a glimpse at the blonde's body, stared, openly disgusted and weary.

Quinn glanced at them, and seeing the woman's face, grew bold. She linked her arm through Rachel's, and rested her chin on her shoulder. "Oh, honey."

The brunette furrowed her brow in response, curious.

"You know what's happened? I've got a runner in my pantyhose." Quinn glanced at the elderly couple, who were both staring at her as if she had just told them an apocalypse was on its way. She then forced an obnoxious, ditzy laugh out. "Oh wait, I'm not wearing pantyhose."

Rachel shook her head at Quinn, and couldn't deny that her behavior was amusing. Refreshing, even. She wished she had the guts to mock her judgmental sponsors like that.

The elevator door pinged open and a bellhop stood to the side, expectantly. Quinn gasped and skipped inside, plopping down on the bench with her legs spread. "Well, color me happy! There's a sofa in here for two."

Rachel tried not to smile and faced the shocked elderly couple. "First time in an elevator."

"Ah," the old man said.

"Close your mouth, dear," his wife said, slapping his arm.

Rachel followed Quinn into the elevator, happy the couple had chosen to wait for the next one.

Quinn stood from the plush couch, moving to Rachel's side. "Sorry, I couldn't help it."

Rachel glanced at her and rolled her eyes. "Try." She turned to the bellhop. "Penthouse."

"The penthouse." Quinn echoed, raising her eyebrow.

Rachel nodded. "Yes."

Quinn hummed, and strode out of the elevator when the doors opened.

"To the left," Rachel said, smirking.

The blonde faltered. "Oh."

She turned and trailed Rachel to the door, leaning against the frame as the brunette fumbled the card.

"Oh, I miss keys."

Quinn took it from her hands gently and swiped it, widening her eyes when the room—well, _rooms_—were revealed. She swaggered into the room, dropping her bag at the mini bar and spinning around to take it all in.

Rachel hadn't been kidding when she said this wasn't the kind of hotel that rented by the hour.

"Impressed?"

Quinn's eyes found Rachel's, and she shrugged. "You kidding me? I come here all the time." She smirked. "As a matter of fact, they do rent this room by the hour."

Rachel threw her head back and laughed. "Sure they do."

Quinn went out on the balcony while Rachel moved behind the bar for a bottle of water. The blonde shouted from outside, "Wow, great view!"

She had never seen her city lit up like this. It made her forget what a dump it really was; it made her believe that maybe that man strutting down the sidewalk earlier hadn't been completely insane when he bellowed about dreams. It was Hollywood, after all. And all lit up like this, all the scars and craters of broken promises and shredded hopes covered in a comforting blackness, it was easy to grow optimistic. Quinn sighed. "I bet you can see all the way to the ocean from out here."

"I'll take your word for it." Rachel leaned in the doorway, watching Quinn lean over the railing. "I don't go out there."

"Why don't you go out here?"

"I'm afraid of heights."

"You are?" Quinn teased, moving over to tug at Rachel's collar and diminish the space between them. "So how come you rented the penthouse?"

Rachel tried not to be distracted by the sudden closeness. "It's the best. I looked all around for penthouses on the first floor, but I can't find one."

Quinn nodded, running her hands down Rachel's arms to link around her waist. "Well, now that you have me here, what are you going to do with me?"

"Want to know something?" Rachel said, and Quinn nodded. "I don't have a clue."

"No?" Quinn said, pressing closer.

Rachel swallowed. "I hadn't exactly planned this."

"Well, do you plan everything?"

"Always."

"Yeah. Me too." Quinn tilted her head. "I'm actually—no, I'm not a planner. I wouldn't say I was a planner." She dipped her head so that her lips were almost touching Rachel's ear. "I would say I was, um, a kind of _fly by the seat of my pants_ gal." She felt the brunette shudder. "You know, moment to moment. That's me. That's—yeah."

"Mm-hmm," Rachel managed to say, beyond coherent words.

Quinn suddenly pulled back. "You know, you could pay me. That's one way to maybe break the ice."

"Oh, yeah. I'm sorry. Uh, I assume cash is acceptable." Rachel snapped out of the spell, rushing into the room. If Quinn didn't know any better, she'd think that the woman was trying to escape. And if she didn't know any better, Quinn would say that she herself was enjoying this more than she should.

She sauntered into the main room, hopping onto the office desk. "Cash works for me, yeah."

Rachel glanced up from the chair, handing her the money. "You're on my fax."

"Well, that's one I haven't been on before."

"Cute. Very cute," Rachel said, chuckling.

"Thank you," Quinn replied, and unzipped her boot to store the cash and pull out female condoms. "All right. Here we go. Pick one. I got red, I got green, I got yellow. I'm out of purple, but I do have one gold circle coin left. The condom of champions. The one and only. Nothing is gettin' through this sucker."

She looked up to see a confused brunette. "What?"

"Well, it's just… I don't have a penis, Quinn."

"Yeah, but you could have STDs or HIVs and I'd rather not take my chances," the blonde countered. "Gay sex needs safe sex, too. So what d'you say? Hmm?"

Rachel glanced over the options. "A buffet of safety."

"I'm a safety girl."

The brunette sighed, leaning back in her chair to gaze at Quinn.

The blonde squirmed under her stare, growing self-conscious. "All right, let's get one of these on you."

She bent forward and made to undo Rachel's belt, but was stopped by a soft hand on her wrist, again frozen by shining brown eyes.

"No. I," the brunette laughed awkwardly. "Why don't we just talk for a little bit, okay?

Quinn furrowed her brow, sitting back up. "Talk. Yeah... uhm... okay. Rachel, are you in town on, uh, business or pleasure?"

"Business, I think."

"Business, you think." Quinn leaned back on her arm. "Well... let me guess. That would make you... a lawyer."

"A lawyer?" Rachel said, scoffing.

"Mm-hmm."

"What makes you think I'm a lawyer?"

"You've got that, uhm... sharp, useless look about you."

Rachel laughed. "I bet you've known a lot of lawyers."

"I've known a lot of everybody," Quinn said.

"Well, I'm not a lawyer. I'm on Broadway, but here for a Hollywood project."

"Ah," Quinn nodded. "The entertainment business. Is there a difference?"

Rachel chuckled, but before she could retort, the doorbell chimed.

"What is that?" Quinn asked, jumping off the desk.

The brunette stood. "Champagne."

"Oh! Well." Quinn beat her to the door. "Might as well make myself useful."

The bell rang again, and Quinn swung the door open, smiling.

The service looked startled but nodded at her. "Good evening."

"Hi," she responded, blocking the doorway unintentionally.

"Uh, where would you like it?"

Quinn turned to face Rachel. "Where would we like it?"

"Uhm, over by the bar."

The man looked at her expectantly. She realized he was waiting for her to step aside and giggled. "Excuse me!"

He placed it on the bar. "It'll be on your bill, Ms. Berry."

"Thank you."

The man returned to the doorway and hesitated, looking back at the two of them.

"What are you lookin' at?" Quinn snapped. When he didn't answer, she cleared her throat and looked at Rachel. "What is he lookin' at?"

"Ah, yes." Rachel jumped up from her chair, slipping him a bill. "Here you go. Thank you very much."

"Thank you very much, ma'am. Have a nice night." He closed the door behind him.

"A tip. Wow. I missed that one. Oh." Quinn scuffed the floor with her boot. She muttered. "Stupid."

Rachel touched her arm as she made her way to the bar. "Don't worry about it."

Quinn sat down on the steps. "You mind if I take my boots off?"

"Not at all." Rachel popped the cork.

The blonde watched her. "So, do you have a wife? Girlfriend?"

"I have both."

Quinn snorted. "Where are they? Shopping together?"

Rachel poured a glass of champagne. "My ex-wife is now in Long lsland... in my ex-home...with my ex-dog." She handed the glass to Quinn. "There you go. My ex-girlfriend, Jessica, is in New York...moving out of my apartment even as we speak." Rachel sat down beside her, extending a bowl of fruit. "Why don't you try a strawberry?"

Quinn sniffed. "Why?"

"It brings out the flavor in the champagne."

"Oh, groovy." The blonde picked up a strawberry, bit it, and drained the glass of champagne. Rachel sighed.

"Pretty good," Quinn admitted. "Don't you drink?"

"No."

Quinn frowned, not used to being pampered. Somehow, it was harder than the usual fuck and flee that the job called for. It was more dangerous. It involved feeling. "Listen, I-I appreciate this whole seduction scene you've got goin', but let me give you a tip: I'm a sure thing, okay? So, I'm on an hourly rate. Could we just move it along?"

Rachel quirked an eyebrow. "Somehow I'm sensing that this time problem is a major issue with you. Why don't we just get through that right now?"

"Great, let's get started."

"How much for the entire night?"

Quinn clicked her tongue. "Stay here?" When the brunette nodded, she snickered. "You couldn't afford it."

"Try me."

"Five hundred dollars."

"Done. Thank you. Now we can relax."

Quinn was skeptical. "Are you sure you want me to stay for the entire night? I mean, I could just pop you good and be on my way."

Rachel shrugged. "To tell you the truth, I don't feel like being alone tonight."

"Why? Is it your birthday or something?"

"No. I mean, I have been the party at a couple of birthdays," Rachel said, smirking.

Quinn rolled her eyes. "I bet you have. So what do you want me to do?"

"I don't know," Rachel paused. "I really don't know."

The blonde nodded and stood. "Do you have a restroom I could use?"

"Down the hall to the left."

"Thanks."

Rachel nodded, and decided to take the few minutes alone to touch base with her lawyer. He was probably crying about his car, assuming she'd either crashed it, abandoned it, or broken it. And she probably would have managed to do all three if Quinn hadn't come along.

When she assured Finn that his Lotus was fine and safe and well (really, he spoke about it as if it was his baby), she reviewed the day's events and what some of her sponsors had said or asked him. She promised to call him later to go over what the next few days would look like, and hung up, wondering what was taking Quinn so long.

She wouldn't be stealing, right?

No, Quinn had the opportunity to steal a lot more from her than hotel shampoo, and hadn't.

Maybe she had hit her head, and was unconscious on the floor in a pool of blood.

Oh, shit.

Rachel knocked on the bathroom door.

"I'll be out in just a minute. That champagne kind of got to me."

Rachel poked her head in the room. "I didn't hear you. What did you say?"

"Uh," Quinn hid a white box behind her back. "I said I'd be out in just a minute."

The brunette opened the door wider. "What is—what do you have in, uhm, your hand there?"

Quinn looked down at her feet, slightly blushing.

"What are you hiding?"

"Nothing."

Rachel sighed. "All right, look. I do not want any drugs here. I don't want any of this. Get your things and your money and please leave."

She tugged Quinn by the arm but the blonde squirmed. "I don't do drugs, all right ? I-I stopped doing drugs when I was fourteen."

"What is this, then? What is this?" The brunette took the box out of her hand and peered at it, suddenly confused. "This is dental floss."

Quinn tensed. "Yeah? So? I had all those strawberry seeds. And you shouldn't neglect your gums."

"I'm sorry," Rachel said, handing back the floss, feeling like all those sleazy jerks that were Quinn's usual clients. Was she any better than them? "Please continue."

"Thank you," Quinn retorted, turning back to the mirror. She caught Rachel's eyes. "Are you gonna watch?"

"No, I'm going." Rachel shook her head, inching out of the doorway. "It's just that, uh, very few people surprise me."

"Yeah, well, you're lucky," Quinn said, leaning into the counter. "Most of 'em shock the hell outta me."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:**** All rights belong to the writers, cast, and crew of Glee and **_**Pretty Woman.**_

_Previously:_

"_No, I'm going." Rachel shook her head, inching out of the doorway. "It's just that, uh, very few people surprise me."_

_ "Yeah, well, you're lucky," Quinn said, leaning into the counter. "Most of 'em shock the hell outta me."_

* * *

"Yes, that may be true, Finn."

Quinn giggled on the floor, the empty champagne glass lying on its side a few feet away, the strawberry bowl empty as well. Rachel couldn't stop the corners of her mouth from turning up at the sight. It was kind of charming, in a weird way. _Quinn_ was charming.

_"Well, what's holding you here? I thought you said the project was almost done. Your sponsors want you back at the Apple, on the stage. Let's wrap it up and go."_

"Yes, I know, but I still need the choreography on final number. We're close but I don't think we've gotten the perfect shot."

_"Isn't there some choreography guy who trains them? You gave them the moves, let the director shoot it."_

"Yeah, I got Mike from LA, but I want to see it through."

_"And your fans want to see you storm through Broadway again."_

"Look, Finn, you're my lawyer. That's all. I appreciate the advice, but I know what I'm doing here. You know I don't half-ass any project I take on—I'm not going to start now."

She could hear him grunt into the receiver, and decided it was time to hang up, before he kicked a chair or something. "You can tell the sponsors exactly what I've just said. I'll call you tomorrow. Thank you very much."

Quinn laughed again at the TV, as a woman slipped and fell in a pit of grapes. They had been smashing it with their feet. Rachel raised her eyebrow, more amused at the blonde than the program. At the click of the phone, Quinn glanced over her shoulder, and seeing the brunette no longer occupied, smirked.

"I have a little carpet picnic here. Are you sure you don't want a drink?"

Rachel snorted, shaking her head in the negative. "I'm high on life. Can't you tell?"

Quinn rolled her eyes, returning her attention back to the show. Rachel stretched out on the couch, lolling her head towards the television. "You know, I never saw this episode."

The two women on the show were now trying to get up in the slippery barrel of half squished fruit. When one would finally gain balance, the other would slip and they would fall down again. Rachel chuckled, wondering when the last time she had watched a comedy had been. She was so caught up in show tunes, romance, and dramas that she rarely found time to just laugh.

Quinn seemed to notice a mood shift in the room, and clicked the mute button, pushing herself up off the floor and onto all fours. She crawled towards the brunette, who looked relaxed for the first time that night. Her hips swayed behind her, shoulders rippling like a jungle cat. She saw Rachel's breath hitch, and continued forward, slipping onto the sofa and settling on Rachel's lap.

She leaned down. "What do you want?"

"What do you do?"

"Everything," she husked. "But I don't kiss on the mouth."

Rachel hummed. "Neither do I."

Quinn nodded, and dipped her head to kiss Rachel's neck, once. After glancing up at her for a small nod, she moved to find Rachel's pulse. The brunette craned her head to the side, allowing her better access. She licked once, as if testing the area, and then nibbled, sucked, and sealed the spot with an open-mouthed kiss. Rachel's hands flew up to grasp the blonde's hips for some kind of anchor as her kisses grew rougher and more frantic. Quinn chuckled when the brunette shuddered, and lifted herself so that she was no longer straddling her but hovering inches above. Rachel furrowed her brow at the loss of contact, and tugged her closer. Quinn resisted, focusing on trailing her lips from Rachel's left earlobe to her lower jaw, to the center of her clavicle, and down.

But when she hit the collar bone, the brunette let out a tiny, fierce growl and yanked the blonde against her, arching her back for maximum pressure. Quinn bit her lip to contain the gasp that rocked through her body at the electric skin contact—really, shared body heat had never had that effect on her before. At least, not with clients. Quinn tried to pull back, to realign her mind with what was going on, but Rachel huffed, rolling so that they fell off the couch and onto the floor, with Quinn pinned underneath her. Her hazel eyes opened wider as she attempted to regain control, and Rachel's mouth had already frozen, pressed over a pulse point.

The brunette slowly brought her head up, unclenching her fists from the material of Quinn's skimpy shirt. Rachel's hair had fallen out of its ponytail, and seemed to be everywhere. The blonde focused on that, and on the woman's swirling brown eyes to keep her attention away from the fact that they were both panting, heavily, chests rising and falling to a shared, mystery beat. Quinn pushed herself up onto her elbows, clearing her throat, uncertain of what to do.

It had to have been the champagne. That fancy ass shit with the strawberries. That's why she was feeling like this.

It had nothing to do with the tiny woman currently on top of her. No. That was ridiculous. Rachel was a soulless entertainer, after all. Plus, she was helpless and hopeless with cars. And she was…gorgeous, in an effortless way.

Quinn bit her lip.

But she was probably only a charity case to Rachel.

Rachel cleared her throat, breaking their stare, before getting off Quinn and offering a hand to pull her up.

"Well, that got a little weird…" Quinn trailed off, taking the hand.

The brunette blushed. "Yeah, I'm sorry." She looked everywhere but the blonde. "So, uhm, TV?"

Quinn nodded, easing into a chair. It'd at least be a distraction.

Rachel kept glancing over at the blonde, wondering what she was thinking. Had any of her other clients gone into animal mode and attacked her like that? She was pretty sure hookers didn't like when they weren't leading the play, and Rachel had gotten a little carried away. It had just felt natural. Right.

She was about to tell Quinn that she could leave, that she didn't have to stay with a potential freak, when she heard the blonde let out a tiny snore. The brunette shook her head. Thank god for that champagne.

* * *

"Good morning, Mr. Hudson."

"Good morning, Marjorie," Finn said, winking at the server. Rachel arched her eyebrow, wondering how many times her lawyer had frequented this hotel.

"Who invited you here?" she asked, crossing her arms.

He grabbed a muffin from the basket and leaned on the counter. "Of course Mr. Schue is going to want to be a part of this project. He retired a few years ago from show business to teach, but to tell you the truth, I think he misses it." Crumbs fell onto his shirt, and he wiped his mouth. "I don't think he's ready to leave until his name stands for something, and what better person to work with than, the one and only, _Miss Rachel Barbara Berry_!"

Rachel frowned. "Don't mock me."

Finn shrugged, plucking some bacon from a plate nearby. "He wants to meet you face to face. But I wouldn't do it."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Sure, you wouldn't. But do it anyhow." She looked at her calender. "Tonight. Dinner. Set it up."

Finn tensed. "Oh, Rachel, Rach. I— Look, it's really not a good idea that you see him. Definitely not alone. You know? He's a feisty old guy."

"What are you saying?"

"You know, we say the wrong thing, we could wind up with bad publicity." He lowered his voice. "You have a tendency to lose your temper."

Rachel huffed. "Well, you know, there's always a possibility things are gonna go wrong." She walked over to pull out orange juice from the fridge. "That's why I enjoy this so much. Oh, by the way, Finn, about your car."

"Oh, God. What?"

"It corners like it's on rails."

He rubbed his head. "What? What does that mean?"

Rachel heard some blankets rustling and began to shepherd her lawyer towards the door. He didn't take the hint.

"Rachel? Rachel!"

She finally got him through the door, and shut the door. She turned to walk back to the kitchen, but hesitated, manually locking the door with a satisfied click, just in case. When she made it back to the table, Quinn was already sitting in her seat, sipping the juice.

The blonde looked up from the buffet in front of her. "Hi."

"Well, good morning," Rachel said, stepping further into the room and getting herself another glass.

"Y-You didn't wake me. I can see you're really busy." Rachel glanced at the usually confident woman, who was already out of her chair and seemingly ready to bolt. "I'm gonna be outta here in just a minute."

The brunette shook her head. "No, there's no hurry. Are you hungry? You must be." She motioned for Quinn to sit back down. "Why don't you sit and have something to eat? I, uhm, took the liberty of ordering everything on the menu." She looked down and blushed. "I didn't know what you'd like."

Quinn smiled softly, reaching for a bagel. "Thanks."

"All right? Good." Rachel sat down beside her, skimming the paper's headlines. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah, too good." Quinn chuckled. "I forgot where I was."

"Occupational hazard?" Rachel said, smiling.

"Yeah." Quinn paused. "Did you sleep?"

Rachel glanced up. "Uh, yes, a little, on the couch. I was, uhm, working a little. After you fell asleep I brought you to the bed."

Quinn clucked through her teeth, leaning back in the chair. "You don't sleep, you don't do drugs, you don't drink, you hardly eat. What do you do, Rachel? 'Cause I know you're not a lawyer."

"That's right," Rachel said.

"You said Broadway, right?"

The brunette nodded.

"But you're here for a project?"

"Yes."

"Well, what kind of Hollywood project?"

"Uhm, it's kind of… It's a movie about a group of ragtag kids who have this club—a glee club—but they're the losers of the school and get slushied—"

"Slushied?"

"Yeah, instead of punches the bullies throw slushies in their faces."

Quinn quirked her eyebrow. "Sounds psychotic."

Rachel laughed. "Well, anyway, they face adversity and beat it, and win nationals, gaining respect from their peers."

"Sounds too sweet." Quinn said. "That'd never happen."

Rachel shrugged. "It's loosely based on my high school experience."

"So, let me guess, they're all led by an ambitious, quirky brunette?"

"Well, I wouldn't put it like that…"

Quinn shook her head, amused. "Wow. You must be really good, huh? I was in a glee club, but I quit in eleventh grade. Dropped out." She took a bite of a banana. "When did you get your first lead on the big stage?"

"Sophomore year of college."

Quinn hummed. "Your folks must be really proud, huh?" Rachel smiled and nodded. The blonde finished the banana as Rachel stood from the table. "Mind if I, um, take a swim in your tub before I go?"

"Not at all. Just stay in the shallow end."

She chuckled and thanked her, before returning to the bedroom to undress. Rachel's phone rang, and she sighed, answering it. "Hello?"

_"Rachel, it's Finn. Listen, I'm running out the door."_

"Weren't you just here? Didn't I just shove you out my room?"

_"Yeah, yeah. I just wanted to let you know, Schue is all set for tonight."_

"Oh, that's good."

_"He's bringing his son. He's grooming him to take over. I don't know."_

"Ah, yes. Very intense young man named David. He plays football."

_"Look, I gotta say this again. I don't like you goin' alone."_

Rachel held the phone away as a voice drifted into the kitchen. "This thing called love I just can't handle it…" She moved towards the bedroom, following it curiously.

_"Look, I just think it'd be better if you—if you went with a date. You know? Keep it social."_

The singing grew louder when she opened the door, and spied tufts of blonde hair in the midst of the foamiest bubble bath she had ever seen.

_"Rachel? Did you hear me?"_

"Oh, yes. Yeah, I'm here." Rachel leaned in the doorway, trying not to laugh as Quinn continued to sing, not noticing her presence.

"…this thing called love, I must get 'round to it…"

_"What is that?"_

"Housekeeping is singing."

"…I ain't ready! Crazy little thing called love..."

_"Yeah... listen. Rachel, I know a lot of nice girls."_

"No, you don't."

"…There goes my baby, she knows how to Rock n' roll…" Quinn shimmied in the water, "she drives me crazy!"

"Besides, I already have one."

"….She gives me hot and cold fever, then she leaves me in a cool cool sweat …"

"You just concentrate on finding out what Schue is up to. I'm on my way."

Rachel ended the call before he could argue, and sat down on the edge of the tub. It was like a siren's call or something. How was it that this woman kept getting more attractive? Her voice was smooth, in a rough, troubled way—it didn't echo her soul, but laid it bare.

"…I gotta be cool, relax, get hip, get on my track's. Take a back seat, hitch-hike, and take a long ride on my motor bike until I'm ready…"

Quinn opened her eyes and jumped a little when she saw Rachel, but smiled, chuckling. "Don't you just love Queen?"

Rachel rolled her eyes. "More than life itself."

"Don't you knock?"

The brunette stood, ignoring the question. "Quinn, I have a business proposition for you."

The blonde raised her eyebrow. "What do you want?"

"I'm gonna be in town until Sunday," Rachel said, and began to pace the bathroom floor, not believing she was about to do this a second time. Especially with her reaction last night. Quinn would probably laugh in her face and reject the offer. But, regardless, she couldn't stop the words from falling out. "I'd like you to spend the week with me."

"Really?"

Rachel swallowed. "Yes. Yes, I'd like to hire you as an employee. Would you consider spending the week with me?" She laughed nervously. "I will pay you to be at my beck and call."

Quinn shifted. "Look, I'd love to be your 'beck and call girl,' but you're a rich, famous, beautiful star. You could get a million girls free."

The brunette stopped pacing and knelt by the bathtub. "I want a professional. I don't need any romantic hassles this week."

"If you're talking all hours of a day, it's gonna cost you."

Rachel grinned. "Oh, yes, of course!" She leaned back on her heels. "All right, here we go. Give me a ballpark figure. How much?"

"Six full nights, days too." She paused, glancing up at the brunette. "Four thousand."

Rachel shook her head, crossing her arms. "Six nights at three hundred is eighteen hundred."

Quinn shrugged. "You want days too."

"Two thousand."

"Three thousand."

"Done."

"Holy shit!" Quinn laughed, dunking under water to do a celebratory dance.

Rachel leaned over the side. "Quinn. Quinn, is that a yes?"

Quinn shot up, spitting as the bubbles slid down her face, with a wide smile. "Yes. Yes!"

Rachel nodded, backing out the door with a small smile. "I'll be gone most of the day. I want you to buy some clothes. We may be going out evenings. You'll need something to wear."

"Like what?"

"Uhm, nothing too flashy. Not too sexy." She hesitated. "Conservative. You understand?"

"Boring."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Elegant. Any questions?"

"Can I call you Rachie?"

"Not if you expect me to answer."

They laughed, staring a bit too long. As Rachel turned to leave, Quinn stopped her. "I would've stayed for two."

Rachel smiled, and walked out the door, calling out over her shoulder, "I would've paid four. I'll see you tonight."

"Baby, I'm gonna treat you so nice, you're never gonna wanna let me go!"

"Three thousand for six days. And, Quinn, I will let you go."

The main door shut, and Quinn blew into the bubbles, adrenaline rushing to her core. She grinned. "But I'm here now."

With three thousand dollars! Man, San was going to kill her when she found out what she had passed up. The blonde just hoped things wouldn't be weird, like last night. But then again, the chemistry would definitely help with the dating game that they were going to put on. At least now she'd get to see _the_ Rachel Berry in action.

Bring it on.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: ****All rights belong to the writers, cast, and crew of Glee and **_**Pretty Woman. **_

**Thanks for all the reviews! (Also, to answer a question: No, they have not had sex yet.)**

_Previously:_

_ Three thousand dollars! Man, San was going to kill her when she found out what she had passed up. The blonde just hoped things wouldn't be weird, like last night. But then again, the chemistry would definitely help with the dating game that they were going to put on. At least now she'd get to see the Rachel Berry in action. _

_ Bring it on._

* * *

Quinn looped the phone cord through her fingers, listening to the drone of the dial-tone for the fifth time that hour. Her roommate couldn't have anything better to do right now, it was only late morning. Unless something bad had happened to her, of course.

The blonde frowned, and shook her head to clear the thoughts.

_"Hello?"_

She sat up straighter, relieved Santana had finally answered. "I called and called. Where were you last night?"

There was a pause. _"__Mamá__?"_

"It's Q."

_"Oh. Hi. I had to party. Where are you?"_

Quinn smirked. "Oh, lord. Are you ready for this? That person—the Lotus? I am in her hotel room in Beverly Hills." She paused, grinning. "The _penthouse_. Her bathroom is bigger than the Blue Banana!"

She overheard some grumbled Spanish. _"Do I have to hear this?"_

"San, she wants me to stay the whole week. And you know what she's gonna give me? Guess. You'll never guess." There was silence on the other end, and the blonde rolled her eyes before continuing. "Three thousand dollars."

_"Bullshit!"_

"I swear to God. And extra money to buy clothes."

_"Christ, I can't believe gave that chick to you!"_ Santana groaned as Quinn laughed. _"Three thousand. Really? ls she twisted?"_

"No."

_"Ugly?"_

Quinn huffed. "She's good-looking!"

_"Well, what's wrong with her?"_

"Nothing."

_"Did she give you the money yet?"_

"At the end of the week," Quinn said, drumming her fingers against the tabletop.

_"That's what's wrong with her."_

Quinn snorted. "Well, she gave me 500 for last night. And, S? I'm gonna leave some at the front desk for you. I want you to pick it up. I'm at the Regent Beverly Wilshire. Write it down." She paused. "Are you writing it down? You'll forget it. Write it down."

There was a rustling noise and then clicking. _"Reg... Bev... Wil."_

"Now, one more thing," Quinn said, hesitating. "Where do I go for the clothes? Good stuff, on her."

_"In Beverly Hills?"_

"Yeah."

_"Rodeo Drive, baby."_

"Rodeo Drive, right," Quinn mumbled to herself, setting the phone back down into its cradle.

She swallowed thickly as the elevator doors slid open. For the second time in the past fifteen hours she found herself missing the old, sketchy motels that she was often taken to by her clients. At least she didn't draw attention to herself there. It was routine. She knew it, and the guests knew it.

Damn Rachel and her classiness.

Running a hand through her hair, she speed walked across the lobby, stopping at the counter. She tapped it twice, gaining the attention of the receptionist, smiling. "Hi."

"Yes, ma'am. May I help you?"

"Yeah, I'm leaving this here for Santana Lopez," Quinn said, clearing her throat. "She's gonna pick it up."

The guy behind the counter nodded, taking the thick envelope from her.

Quinn backed up a few steps, narrowing her eyes. "Don't open that."

"No, ma'am," he said, slipping it into a drawer.

Satisfied, the blonde turned and strutted out the door. She had left three hundred dollars for Santana, had three thousand more coming, and had who knows how much in her pocket, in a wad of cash _and_ Rachel's platinum credit card.

Rodeo Drive, baby.

A man with carefully styled hair excused himself from a conversation, watching the blonde go through the doors. He turned to one of the workers. "Miss Wilson, do you know that lady?"

She followed his gaze and shook her head. "No, sir."

"Alright," he said, brow furrowing. "Thank you, Miss Wilson."

* * *

"May I help you?"

Quinn looked up from the clothing rack she was browsing. "I'm just checking things out."

The woman inched closer, hands fiddling together, waiting to brush away invisible wrinkles. She'd been staring and trailing the blonde since she had set foot in the boutique. "Are you looking for something in particular?"

"No," Quinn said, before hesitating. "Well, yeah. Something... conservative."

"Yes."

The blonde missed her eye roll. "You've got nice stuff."

"Thank you."

She fingered a long, blue gown. "How much is this?"

The woman sniffed. "I don't think this would fit you."

"Well, I didn't ask if it would fit," Quinn said, squaring herself. "I asked how much it was."

The woman gave her a small smile, prying the dress from her hand to put it back on the rack. "How much is this, Marie?"

A woman behind the desk answered, not bothering to look up. "It's very expensive."

"It's very expensive," the saleswoman repeated.

"Look, I got money to spend in here."

"I don't think we have anything for you," the woman said, looking her over. "You're obviously in the wrong place." She stepped closer, challenging the blonde. "Please leave."

Quinn glared at her, knocking shoulders as she left the store. The woman gasped and staggered backwards, and the blonde didn't look back.

Instead, she focused on matching her breathing with her steps. If she thought about anything else, the tears would break through the dam she had constructed over the past years. People like that woman were the reason she never went outside the streets she and Santana lived on. Leering and catcalls she could handle, but it was the outright, unrelenting _disgust_ that she could not.

Step, step breathe. Step, step breathe. Step, step—

Oh, fucking forget it.

She threw herself onto a bench as her sight became blurry, biting the inside of her cheek. This was worse than Georgia.

Damn Rachel.

She exhaled and blinked several times, listening to the chatter passing her, of the people pretending to be oblivious.

"Doctor's office? Two blocks down and to your left."

"Oh, thank you."

"Did you hear? Tiffany is taking the corner space; they like the project. We're very excited about the whole thing."

"Did you realize that Via Rodeo is the first new street in Beverly Hills in years?"

Quinn snorted, and the man glanced at her before picking up his pace. It may be the first street built in years, but there was nothing new about it.

The blonde had decided to retreat to the hotel, figuring maybe she'd call Rachel and ask her where to buy clothes. Or maybe she'd just pack up and leave. Three thousand wasn't worth this kind of harassment and embarrassment, anyway.

She was waiting by the elevator when she was tugged by the arm into a corner a few feet away. Yanking her arm out of the man's grip, she glared at him. He was pretty shrimpy, with pristine hair and an impeccable suit, with a funny looking brooch on the pocket. Weren't brooches and pins for old people?

He cleared his throat. "Excuse me, miss, may I help you?"

"I'm going to my room."

"Uh, do you have a key?"

"Oh. I forgot that cardboard thing." Quinn faltered. "I'm on the top floor."

He shifted. "You're a guest here?"

"I'm with a friend."

"And who would that be?"

"Rachel."

"Rachel?"

"Rachel… Rachel, uh…" The elevator door pinged, doors sliding open. Quinn smiled as the bellhop stepped out. "He knows me."

The manager looked over his shoulder, and beckoned the young bellhop to join them. "Dennis, did you just come off the night shift?"

"Yes, sir," he said, grinning.

The manager nodded, and they turned their attention to the blonde. "Do you know this young lady?"

"She's with Ms. Berry."

"That's it. Rachel Berry!" She smiled at the bellhop. "Thanks, Dennis."

He nodded. "Evidently she joined her last night."

"Thank you," the manager said, and dismissed him. Quinn moved to go to the elevator, but the man blocked her.

"Oh, God! What now? What?" She glared at him. "What is with everybody today?"

The man held his hands up, softening. "No, no. It's all right. Just come with me. We'll have a little chat."

Quinn sighed, and followed him. "Fine, I'm coming."

"Uh, what is your name, miss?"

She smirked. "What do you want it to be?"

He rolled his eyes. "Don't play with me, young lady."

The blonde bit her lip. "Quinn."

"Thank you. Quinn," he said, humming. "Well, Miss Quinn. Things that go on in other hotels don't happen at the Regent Beverly Wilshire. Now, Ms. Berry, however, is a very special customer, and we like to think of our special customers as friends."

Quinn's brow furrowed. What was porcelain getting at?

"Now, as a customer, we would expect Ms. Berry to sign in any additional guests, but as a friend, we're willing to overlook it. Now, I'm assuming that you're a…" He trailed off, looking at her expectantly.

She raised her eyebrow, returning his stare.

"Relative?" He suggested, sighing.

"Oh, yes."

"I thought so. Then you must be her…"

They entered another staring match, and he gave in again.

"Niece?" Quinn nodded, and he continued. "Of course. Naturally, when Ms. Berry leaves, I won't see you in this hotel again. "I assume you have no other aunts or uncles here."

Quinn shook her head, blushing slightly.

"Good! Then we understand each other. I would also encourage you to," he glanced at her clothes, "to dress a little more appropriately; that'll be all."

Quinn clenched her fists. "No, that's not all. That's what I was trying to do. I tried to go get a dress on Rodeo Drive today, and the women wouldn't help me." She pulled out the crumpled wad of cash, waving it in his face. "And I have all this money now and no dress! Not that I expect you to help me, but I have all of this, okay? I have to buy a dress for dinner tonight. And nobody will help me."

The man handed her the money back, picking up a phone.

"Oh god, if you're callin' the cops," Quinn groaned, then huffed. "Yeah, call the cops. That's great. Tell 'em I said hi."

"Women's clothing."

Quinn frowned. Wait, what?

"Mercedes, please." He waited a beat. "Yes, Mercedes. Hello. This is Kurt Hummel here at the Regent Beverly Wil—" he was cut off, and laughed. "Thank you, yes, but I'd like you to do a favor for me, please." He turned to the blonde. "I'm sending someone over. Her name is Quinn. She's a special guest. She's the niece of a very special guest."

Quinn blinked back a tear, for the second time that day. _Thank you_, she mouthed. Kurt only smiled and handed her an address.

* * *

"Now, this is the jewel in Schuster's crown," Finn said, pointing to a section of the board, "his son, David. The kid doesn't want to follow his father's footsteps on Broadway, but he is looking at Hollywood. They're settling down in LA, got beach property. So that's where you come in, Rachel."

"We just got the information, Mr. Hudson."

"Can you hold the projection, please? Rachel, look."

The brunette sighed, etching lines on the paper in front of her. "Yeah, what? Speak."

"Old Man Schue just got the inside track on a $10 million contract...to direct a movie for Hollywood."

"Hollywood contract. I can't believe this." Rachel sat up straighter, eyes widening. "You said they would need me to break into the Hollywood scene!"

"I thought they did! But with this $10 million, they've got a strong start."

"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock."

"Maybe we're lucky to get this information now, miss," the intern said. "See, we can still walk away from it."

Finn gaped. "Walk away? Forget it, pal. We got a thousand man-hours in on this! Nobody's walkin' away from anything."

"Finn, I think he's right," Rachel said, tapping the pen.

Finn turned to the intern, yelling, who shouted back, confident in his argument because of Rachel's agreement. After five minutes of clamor and testosterone, Rachel cleared her throat. "Gentlemen, relax! Relax!"

"Who do we know on Hollywood?" Finn asked, suddenly jumping up. Rachel eyed him wearily.

The intern squinted. "Steven Spielberg."

"All right, Spielberg. Let's find out where he is," Finn said.

"Hollywood is not gonna spend $10 million on anything without checking out the buzz on the film. If we get Spielberg to organize a dispute against Schue's film, we won't lose his money. Schue will come crawling back," Finn said, smug.

Rachel frowned. "I don't understand what's going on here today, gentlemen."

"Well, it's pretty simple, actually, we're—"

"No, I understand your proposition, Finn. I don't understand why we're resorting to blackmail. I have many sponsors, why do we need Schue this badly?"

Finn huffed. "He's the biggest one!"

Rachel sighed, pinching the top of her nose in thought. "Alright, here's how it'll go down. Schue has no experience in directing. He'll probably hire a professional. So, rather than buying his son's success and probably having him star in a film flop, I'll offer him acting classes. The plan is to win over his son, not blackmail him. This way, his support remains with me."

She stood. "I'll be in the office."

As she left the room, chatter started back up quietly. Her team was made of asses, but she couldn't deny that they had her back.

"Rachel!"

Okay, so maybe they were a little too enthusiastic. Rachel sat down and looked up at Finn, who hovered in the doorway. "Yes?"

"Listen, everything all set for the meeting tonight?"

She looked down at the choreography for the movie, running it through in her head. "Mm-hmm."

"Who, who is this girl you're going with?"

"Nobody you know."

* * *

"Hello. You must be Quinn. My name's Mercedes."

Quinn smiled at the warm woman, shaking her hand. "Yeah, hi. Kurt said you'd be nice to me."

Mercedes laughed, waving for Quinn to follow her. "He's very sweet. What are your plans while you're in town?"

"We're gonna have dinner."

"You're gonna go out? Dinner?"

"Mm-hmm."

Mercedes paused, as if scrolling through gowns in her head. "Well, you'll need a cocktail dress then. Come with me."

She stopped them a few rows back, and gestured at a rack. "Now, I'm sure we're gonna find something here that your aunt will love." She glanced at Quinn. "You're a size six, right?"

Quinn tilted her head. "Yeah. How'd you know that?"

"Oh, that's my job."

"'Cedes, she's not really my aunt."

The woman laughed, nudging the blonde. "Girl, they never are."

* * *

"Kurt!" Quinn said, cutting front of someone, "look!"

Kurt apologized to the man and Quinn held up the bag. "I got a dress!"

"Well, I'd rather hoped you'd be wearing it."

"Oh, no, I didn't want to get it messed up!" Quinn said, grinning. "Listen, I got shoes too. You wanna see?"

Kurt suppressed a smile. "No, that won't be necessary. I'm sure they're quite lovely. Thank you."

"Okay, well, listen. I didn't mean to interrupt you, but Mercedes was really great...and I just wanted to say thanks." She paused. "You're cool."

Kurt shook his head. "You're welcome, Miss Quinn."

The blonde smiled at him once more before heading off to the elevator and up into the penthouse. When she stepped inside the room, the phone was ringing.

She dropped the dress on the sofa and hovered over the phone. On its last ring, she picked it up and bit her lip. "Hello?"

There was a pause. _"Never, ever pick up the phone."_

Quinn smirked, leaning on the counter. "Then why are you calling me?"

Rachel laughed. _"Did you buy clothes today?"_

"I got a dress. A cocktail one."

_"That's good."_ She hummed_. "I'll be in the hotel lobby, 7:00 sharp."_

"What? You're not comin' up to the door?" Quinn teased.

"This isn't a date. It's business."

"Where are you takin' me, anyway?"

"I'm taking you to a restaurant called the Voltaire."

"Very elegant," Quinn mocked, and smiled when Rachel laughed. "All right. I'll meet you in the lobby, but only 'cause you're paying me to."

"Well, thank you very much."

They hung up, and a moment later Rachel called her assistant. "Get her back for me, please."

"Uhm, Mr. Hudson wanted to see you."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Yes, tell him I'm in the middle of a very important phone call."

The assistant nodded and redialed the number for Rachel, giving her a nod when it was ringing. The brunette picked up the phone, smiling when Quinn picked up again.

_"Hello?"_

"I told you not to pick up the phone."

She chuckled. _"Then stop callin' me."_

Rachel shook her head, smile stuck on her face.

* * *

"Kurt!"

The manager glanced up, frowning. "It didn't fit?"

Quinn looked down, realizing he meant the dress, which she had yet to put on. "Oh, no, no, no. Uh—I've got a little problem."

Kurt quirked his eyebrow. What more could this woman possibly need?

"All right, Miss Quinn, one more time." He folded stood beside her table, silverware all set up. "Dinner napkin."

"Dinner napkin, laid gently in the lap," she repeated, unfolding it onto her lap.

"Good. Elbows off the table." The blonde quickly pulled them off. "Don't slouch." She sat up straighter. "Shrimp fork, salad fork, dinner fork."

She hesitated, pointing to the middle one. "I definitely have the salad fork. The rest of the silverware is a little confusing."

Kurt nodded. "All right, if you get nervous, just count the tines." He bent over to pick up each fork, counting the rungs. "Four tines: dinner fork. And sometimes there are three tines in the salad fork. And sometimes…"

* * *

Rachel stood in the lobby ten minutes early, checking her watch every few seconds. She was nervous. She hadn't lied when she said it wasn't a date, that it was just business, but her mind was having a hard time accepting that. It felt an awful lot like a date.

"Pardon me, Ms. Berry. I'm Mr. Hummel. I'm the manager of the hotel."

"Uh-huh. Excuse me, I just want to make one call," Rachel said, turning towards a phone.

The manager stepped in front of her. "Yes, um, miss. I have a message for you."

Rachel's brow furrowed. Oh, god. It was probably Quinn canceling. "From who?"

"From your niece, ma'am."

"My what?"

Kurt shifted. "The young lady who's staying with you in your room, miss."

"Oh. Hmm," Rachel said, chuckling. "I think we both know that she's not my niece."

"Of course."

"The reason I know that is because I'm an only child."

"Yes, miss." Kurt said, nodding.

"What's the message?"

"She's waiting for you in the lounge." He paused. "Intriguing young lady, Miss Quinn."

"Intriguing," Rachel repeated.

"Have a good evening, miss."

"Thank you, Mr.- ?"

"Hummel. I'm the manager—manager of the hotel."

Rachel nodded, shaking his hand, and walked off to find her date—_acquaintance_.

The brunette stopped in the doorway of the lounge, listening to the piano. She stepped towards the bar, and turned back, not seeing any blonde and pink hair in the room. When she decided to check the bar again, a young blonde had spun the chair to face her, donning a lacy, black dress. There were no longer any tell-tale pink streaks in her hair, but there was no doubt who she was. Rachel's eyes widened.

The blonde stood and sauntered over to her. "You're late."

"You're stunning."

The blonde blinked, smiling as she dipped her head. "You're forgiven."

Rachel laughed and offered her arm. "Shall we go to dinner?"


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: ****All rights belong to the writers, cast, and crew of Glee and **_**Pretty Woman. **_

**Thanks for all the reviews!**

_Previously:_

_ Rachel's eyes widened._

_ The blonde stood and sauntered over to her. "You're late."_

_ "You're stunning."_

_ The blonde blinked, smiling as she dipped her head. "You're forgiven." _

_ Rachel laughed and offered her arm. "Shall we go to dinner?"_

* * *

"This way, Ms. Berry. Your party is waiting."

Rachel leaned into Quinn, giving her arm a light squeeze. "Stop fidgeting."

The blonde brought her hand out from her hair, and tried to focus on Rachel to keep her mind off of the dinner and its many rules.

Why had she agreed to this again?

Oh right, _three thousand_ dollars.

When the hostess brought them to the table, the gentlemen stood, smiling.

"Mr. Schuster?" Rachel prompted politely.

"Yes, Ms. Berry. I'm Will Schuster." He shook the brunette's extended hand, and clapped the young man next to him on the back. "This fireball is my son, David."

The son laughed, shaking his head. "Well, I don't know about the fireball part, but son is true enough." He smiled at Rachel. "Big fan."

"Oh, thank you. I would be nowhere without my cast mates and fans, though."

"Pardon me, but I'd have to disagree with you there," Schuster said.

"Yeah, I'm with Pops on this one," David agreed. "Your voice is big enough to pack stadiums and opera houses on its own."

Rachel smiled in response, waving away the praise. Maybe it would be easier than she thought to change their minds, and convince them to pass over the Hollywood contract. She glanced at the blonde, who seemed to be eyeing the two men with uneasiness.

"I'm pleased to meet you both," she continued, and placed a hand at the small of Quinn's back. "This is a friend of mine, Quinn Fabray."

The blonde straightened, shaking hands. "Hi. I'm really glad to meet you."

Schuster gestured to the chairs. "Please, sit."

The blonde beat Rachel to the seat, and pulled it back for her. The brunette smiled in surprise, and sat down, unfolding the napkin in her lap.

She glanced up to find Quinn hovering by the table and tilted her head in silent question.

"Excuse me," she said, suddenly.

"Where are you going?" Rachel asked, confused.

"I'm going to the ladies' room," she said, softly.

Rachel nodded. "Upstairs, to the right."

"Okay. Excuse me." She took a few steps before the brunette stopped her again.

"Shall I order for you?"

"Yeah," she said, then blushed and sighed. "I mean, please do so. Thank you."

"I'll do that," Rachel confirmed, smiling.

When she reached the bathroom she leaned over the sink, hands gripping the counter.

She could do this. She was Quinn fucking Fabray. She said when, she said what, she said business. All she had to do was sit there and look sexy. She'd been doing that for years now, so it wasn't anything she couldn't handle. It was the same thing, except cloaked in a classy front.

Right, no big deal. She was a damn professional, after all.

"Please, God," she muttered, "let me get through this dinner."

* * *

"Ms. Berry, my father believes the men who create a film should control its destiny," David said.

The waiter returned to their table with appetizers, food that Quinn didn't recognize. It looked kind of like cheese and crackers, but with a leaf of some fancy lettuce, a slice of an unknown vegetable, and a something that looked a lot like a green olive but smelt like sardine.

She glanced at the forks, knowing the salad was supposed to come first. Was this it? Was this some kind of experimental restaurant, pushing boundaries in cuisine? No, maybe it came later. She'd probably just heard Kurt wrong, and mixed up which came first.

Quinn turned to Rachel, lowering her voice. "Where's the salad?"

"Um," Rachel said, glancing at her, "the salad comes at the end of the meal."

"That's the fork I knew," she muttered. Rachel slipped a hand onto her thigh, patting it reassuringly. Quinn gave her a small smile, biting her lip at the shiver than threatened to shoot up her spine.

"Let me, uh, put it another way," Schuster started, picking the conversation back up. "Between the neglected meetings with us as a sponsor and the sudden attention you're now giving us, we find it very hard to figure out what your real intentions are, calling us to this dinner."

Quinn's hand wavered over the array of silverware, picking one up to count the tines and remember Kurt's rhyme. But how was she supposed to know which one to pick when she didn't even know what was in front of her?

David watched from his seat, recalling the first time his father had dragged him to a business meeting. It had been just as hard keeping up with proper dining etiquette as following the conversation.

He nudged the blonde. "I don't know about you, but I've never been able to figure which goes with what." Smiling, he picked up the appetizer and bit into it, ignoring the silverware altogether.

The two shared a laugh, and Quinn smiled gratefully, following his lead. Rachel couldn't help but shake her head at the blonde's endearment.

"You know, there was a time when Hollywood wasn't about the money," Schuster said, trying to steer the conversation back to business. "Used to be as good as Broadway. I want to bring it back to that standard."

"And I'd like to help," David said. "There are certain timeless qualities that everyone would agree make a great film, or even a play. Of course, those variables can be paired differently each time, resulting in a variety of greatness. What Pops and I plan to do with the Hollywood contract is to bring back the reputation Hollywood has lost along the way."

"How do you plan on doing that?" Rachel asked, thanking the waiter as he placed the next course in front of her. "The audience has changed."

A plate of pearled shells appeared before Quinn. She stopped the server, asking him quietly, "Who ordered this?"

He nodded towards Rachel. "The miss did, ma'am. Bon appetite."

Quinn's nose crinkled as she examined the seafood in front of her.

Rachel watched her eye the meal, and urged her to give it a chance. "These are escargot. It's French for snails. It's a delicacy." She took one of her own in the metal clasp, using the special utensil to scoop out the snail. "Try it." She glanced up at the table, and prompted the two men to continue. "David?"

"Look, Ms. Berry, if you were to change our minds—and I don't think you will—but if you do, what do you have us do instead?"

"Screw the contract and have David work from the inside out."

The two men exchanged a look. "I'm sure you'll understand I'm not thrilled at the idea of disregarding our status at the top to work from the ground up, yet again."

Quinn decided to refocus her attention on the food. Rachel wasn't so good at business. Even she knew you were supposed to butter up the clients before any level of bluntness like that. Hopefully she was a better singer than she was businesswoman.

She glanced back up at the brunette, who was arguing with the Schusters. Was it weird that she had never heard Rachel sing? Yes, they had only known each other for two days, and granted, the time had been spent between driving Lotuses and small chat, but for a star known for her love of Broadway and all things musical, shouldn't she have at least heard a few melodies by now?

As she took a shell in the clamp, she made a mental promise to make Rachel sing by the end of the night.

"With lessons from me and some of my associates, David will gain a strong repertoire of talent, from various circles. He'll be the best in dance, song, acting, improv…you name it. Hollywood won't be able to turn him down. He'll gain a reputation and be able to work with directors to repair Hollywood, rather than against them."

Schuster clenched his jaw, sensing he was losing the fight. David seemed interested, but uncertain. He opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a snail shell ricocheting out of Quinn's grasp and off a tray, into a waiter's quick hand. The server tucked it behind his back, giving Quinn a small smile.

The blonde blushed, dipping her head and chuckling nervously. "Slippery little suckers."

"It happens all the time, miss," the server said, disappearing around the corner.

The others laughed off the incident, and the blonde tried not to sink into her chair in embarrassment. Rachel restarted the conversation, drawing attention away from the blushing blonde.

Quinn, deciding not to fight with one of the gross little slug things again, played with the silverware to look busy. She tried to follow the conversation, but wasn't really interested. She didn't understand why Rachel was taking such an interest in this particular sponsor. The brunette had explained that it was one of her richest supporters, and had been with her from the beginning, but the blonde didn't see why she still needed him. She was rich enough to lose him, especially since she still had countless donators remaining by her side. Why not let him go after his own son's dreams?

"I met one of your fathers. What're their names?" Will said.

Rachel hesitated, wondering where this was going. "LeRoy and Hiram."

"Yeah. Hiram. Hiram Berry," he repeated, smiling at a memory. "He's not quite the pain in the ass everybody says he is."

Rachel shook her head. "No, he isn't."

"He's a stickler in show business, but that's only because he wants things done his way. But, you know, he knew what he was doing. Everything was done properly." Schuster paused. "Do you make him proud?"

"I, I'd like to think so," Rachel said, quietly. Quinn looked up, concerned at the brunette's uncharacteristic stutter. "It doesn't really matter now. He passed away."

Quinn took her hand under the table, giving her a gentle squeeze for support.

Will exhaled. "Oh, I hadn't heard. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too," Rachel murmured, before clearing her throat. "Mr. Schuster, you accepted the invitation to this meeting. What can I do for you?"

"Allow me to gain headway on Hollywood. Let me take the contract."

The waiter placed the palate cleanser in front of them. Quinn took the leaf and hesitantly bit into it. It tasted of mint, for a second. But immediately after, her mouth was filled with a bitter taste. She wrinkled her nose and swiftly slipped it out of her mouth and back onto the dish. The lime green ball of substance remained before her, and she took a spoonful of it, sniffing it discreetly. It looked kind of like ice cream.

She ate the spoonful, and her eyes widened at the first taste she actually enjoyed that night.

"I can't do that," Rachel said. Quinn furrowed her brow, trying to figure out what was stopping the brunette. She saw a spark of emotion ignite in her brown eyes, but couldn't place it. "I'll provide invaluable lessons for David, even provide you with support, both verbal and in a sum of money, to create your dream film. But David will go nowhere until he gains more experience."

"You don't know that. David's got talent, and everyone has to find a start somewhere. This could be—_will be_—his beginning. Together we'll transform Hollywood, and I don't understand why you'd want to stand in front of that."

The waiters returned to remove the sorbet and replace it with another exotic looking meal, and Quinn reflexively grabbed onto the plate, not quite finished. She bit her lip, unhappily relinquishing it when she realized the others were watching. Rachel shook her head, amused, before returning to the conversation.

"It's not that I'm standing in front of your dream, it's that I'm helping you recognize that the way you want to approach it, the plan that you are about to put into action, will flop. It'll ruin his reputation. It'll ruin _your _mission to revive quality films."

Schuster stood, tossing his napkin onto the table. "Don't you dare forget that I've been in this business, too, Ms. Berry. You're belittling me, _in front _of my son!"

David eased out of his chair, resting a hand on his father's arm. "Easy, easy, calm down. Calm down, Dad."

Quinn fiddled with the napkin hem, uneasy. This was not going well.

"Ms. Berry plays hard," David began.

"Yes, yes, I do," Rachel said, not about to back down.

David rolled his eyes, continuing. "But she has a point. It's not only Hollywood that has changed, it's the people, too. Everyone is money crazy, out for whatever film will draw in the cash. Nowadays, that means movies about alcohol blackouts that involve tigers and giraffes, or 3D movies about celebrities. If we are serious about our vision, and we are, we're going to have to compromise at first—gain a standing in the business."

He turned to Rachel, his father unhappily placated. "Look, we'll consider your offer. In a week's time, we will meet with you again and discuss more if we want to pursue the idea, or less, if we choose to continue with our plan."

Rachel nodded. "Fair enough. Thank you, David."

David shook her hand, turning to leave with his father. He paused. "Quinn, it was a great pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," Quinn said, smiling.

"You two enjoy your dinner. I'm sure it'll be delicious," Will said, before the two left.

There was a beat of silence before Quinn cleared her throat and broke the silence. "Rich people throw their napkins a lot, don't they?" Rachel chuckled, leaning back and pinching the bridge of her nose. "He seems like a nice man."

Rachel sighed, dropping her hand. "I guess I came on a little strong, didn't I?"

"A little." Quinn snorted. "I just mean it's sweet the way he's crazy about his son."

"Oh, his son thinks he's a relic. He hates that he does, but he does."

"Really? I thought David was very protective of his father."

Rachel nodded. "Exactly. Protective. He's stepping up, because he realizes his father may not have all the answers anymore, because he's aging. The times are changing, and he doesn't want to change with them." She paused. "I mean, they _do_ want to rekindle old Hollywood."

Quinn leaned on the table, tilting her head to the side. "Well, I think there's a difference between wanting to turn back time and wanting to return to timeless qualities, don't you?"

Rachel hummed. "Good point. But what reason are they each doing it for?"

Quinn shrugged. "Who knows. Does it matter?"

The server returned to refill the water glasses, and Rachel smiled at him. "Check, please."

"Yes, miss."

* * *

Quinn sat out on the ledge of the balcony, gazing at the lit up city below. It was surreal, returning to the penthouse after a dinner like that. She had almost forgotten what the city was like, from the streets below her. The streets she worked nightly, ambled aimlessly. All the talk of Hollywood, of money, of ruined values, when the real problems remained untouched, unseen.

Quinn sighed, swinging her leg and leaning back against the pillar. She did wish that David and Schuster could see success, though. There was enough crap in the real world; films were one of the few escapes, the portals to different realities that were not always fairy tales, but somehow better.

At least with Hollywood, you got the ending you wanted.

The chair behind her creaked as someone sat in it, and Quinn turned, surprised. "Rachel?" The brunette smiled, stretching out. "Rachel, you said you never come out here."

She shrugged. "Well, I'm only halfway out."

There was a pause, and Quinn returned her attention back on the darkened streets. "You didn't say much in the car on the way home. Are you thinkin' about dinner? I was a mess." She turned back to Rachel. "I mean, the business was good, I think. At the end, you know? He's got a vision and potential money. You know the trade better. He doesn't want to let go of control, of being his son's hero."

Rachel snorted. "Thanks for the recap."

"The problem is, I think you liked them."

Rachel huffed. "I'd like for you to get down from there; you're making me nervous."

"I'm making you nervous?" Quinn smirked. "What if I just leaned back a little bit like this?"

She saw Rachel tense as she leaned sideways. "Quinn."

"Would you—would you rescue me if I fell?"

"Quinn, I'm serious. Come—I'm not looking." Sure enough, the brunette had screwed her eyes shut.

"It's really high. Look, no hands, no hands!" Quinn teased, and when the brunette still didn't open her eyes, she sighed, hopping off the ledge and quietly moving to Rachel's side, squatting next to her. "Okay, all right. I'm sorry. I'm right here."

Rachel, feeling the blonde's breath on her neck, glanced to the side, surprised at the sudden closeness. She took Quinn's hand, playing with her fingers. "The truth is, it really is totally irrelevant whether I like them or not. I will not let myself become emotionally involved in business."

Quinn hummed. "I know. San's always saying to me, 'Don't get emotional when you turn tricks.' That's why no kissing. It's too personal. It's like what you're saying: You stay numb, you don't get involved. When I'm with a guy, I'm like a robot. I just do it." She looked up, locking eyes with Rachel, and threw her a flirty wink. "I mean... except with you, hon."

Rachel laughed. "Oh, of course, not with me."

The blonde smirked, and moved to sit in the brunette's lap, playing with her hair. "I was sorry to hear about your dad. When did he die?"

The brunette frowned. "Last month."

"Do you miss him?"

"I hadn't spoken to him in four and a half years." She hesitated. "I wasn't there when he died."

Quinn rested her head on her shoulder. "Do you want to talk about this?"

"No."

"Well, I tell you what, 'cause I got an idea," she said, pulling back. "Let's watch old movies all night. We'll just veg out in front of the TV."

"_Veg out_?"

"Yeah. Be still like vegetables. Lay like broccoli."

Rachel laughed, and motioned for Quinn to stand up. "Look, I'll tell you what. I'll be back. We'll do broccoli tomorrow."

"Where are you going?" Quinn asked, helping her out of the chair.

"I'm going downstairs for a while."

* * *

After a few hours of passing time in front of the TV, Quinn couldn't shake the feeling that Rachel was hurting. She thought back to their conversation about the dinner. They'd talked about one of her fathers, and she hadn't had a close relationship with him recently. It sounded about the time Rachel had declared a hiatus from the stage to work on a Hollywood project. Or at least that's what Santana had said, when they had talked earlier.

Maybe that, coupled with the close relationship of David and Mr. Schuster, was taking an unexpected toll on the brunette.

What had Will said to her? Something about her father being proud of her?

What a douche. That was a low blow, even for fucking bad business.

That's probably why Rachel had been so keen to help them—even if she refused to admit that she _did_ like them—they reminded her of her own family. And she would hate to see Hollywood tear the pair apart, just as it had with her.

Quinn sighed, pulling a bathrobe over the lacy black lingerie Mercedes had made her buy.

She grabbed the spare key and headed into the hallway. The bellhop nodded at her, curious as to what she was doing out without Rachel. He took her to the first floor, and she walked into the cocktail lounge. The wait staff was in the process of closing the room, stacking up unused chairs and tables. She stopped one of them.

"Hi, uh, I'm in the penthouse. The woman that was here, Ms. Berry, have you seen her anywhere?"

The man nodded towards the stage, where a tiny brunette was pacing. She had discarded her heels at this point, as well as the blazer, but kept on the dress shirt and slacks. The sleeves to the light blue collared shirt were loosely rolled. Rachel's hair fell down in waves, and Quinn had never realized the effortless beauty that she held.

She walked towards the stage, pausing at the edge. The blonde could hear muttered lines, and assumed it was the script for Rachel's project.

She waited a beat. "He would have been proud of you, you know."

Rachel jumped a little, squinting against the stage light. "Quinn?"

"I was getting worried," Quinn said. "It's late."

"Sorry," Rachel said, hopping off the stage.

Quinn took the script out of her hands. "It's going to be perfect, Rach. You have your father's work ethic."

The brunette hummed.

"Don't you ever get tired of working?"

Rachel shrugged. "It could be worse. I could not have something to work on."

"You're crazy, you know that?" Quinn said, and tugged her away from the stage. "Come here."

"Where?"

The blonde sat down on the piano bench, and gestured for Rachel to join her. "You're going to sing."

"I didn't know you played."

Quinn shushed her. "Don't change the subject." She began to press down a few keys, playing the opening notes. She glanced up at Rachel. "Recognize it?"

The brunette nodded, closing her eyes and exhaling, letting the notes wash over her. "_There's a harvest each Saturday night, at the bars filled with perfume and hitching a ride…_"

_ "A place you can stand for one night and get gone," _Quinn joined in, giving her a small, encouraging smile.

Rachel stood from the bench, moving to lean on the piano. "_And it's clear this conversation ain't' doing a thing, 'cause these boys only listen to me when I sing…"_

_ "And I don't feel like singing tonight, all the same songs…"_ Quinn finished, and rocked into the keys as the melody picked up.

Rachel twirled, throwing her head back as she let go of control._ "Here in these deep city lights, girl could get lost tonight. I'm finding every reason to be gone, nothing here to hold on to…Could I hold you?"_

Quinn found it becoming harder to focus on the chords, as Rachel's voice was unlike anything she'd ever heard, and the soul leaking out of it was pained._"The situation's always the same. You got your wolves in their clothes whispering Hollywood's name. Stealing gold from the silver they see, but it's not me…"_

At this point, Rachel had circled the piano, dropping next to the blonde on the bench and leaning into her. Quinn joined her on the chorus, unable to break their gaze.

As it dropped into the bridge, Rachel stood suddenly, looking up at the ceiling. _"Calling out, somebody save me I feel like I'm fading away… Am I gone? Calling out somebody save me I feel like I'm fading…" _She fisted her hand in her hair, sinking back onto the bench. Quinn gave her a worried glance, but continued playing for the last chorus.

When they finished, Rachel's breathing was shallow, and she was blinking furiously. Quinn slipped an arm around her waist as quiet applause echoed their impromptus performance. The blonde nodded at the scattered spectators. "Thank you. Thank you very much."

When Rachel dropped her head onto her shoulder, the blonde pulled her tighter against her, relaxing as she realized the brunette was growing calmer. She opted for humor to lighten the heavy air around them. "I was getting lonely upstairs all by myself."

Rachel laughed, pulling back to look at her. She cleared her throat. "Sorry about that. I just needed to be alone."

"I get it," Quinn said. She moved to kneel in front of Rachel, resting her hands on the brunette's thighs, thumbs rubbing small circles into them. "No need to apologize."

"Mm-hmm." Rachel glanced around them. "Gentlemen, would you mind leaving us, please?" The waiters and few guests exchanged looks, but left nonetheless.

Quinn watched them go, and stood, smirking at Rachel. "Do people always do what you tell them to do?"

Instead of answering, Rachel stood, bringing herself nose to nose with the blonde, whose breath hitched. Rachel hiked her up onto the piano, the keys sounding in protest. Quinn's eyes widened in surprise as the brunette tugged her closer, stepping between her legs and looking up at her expectantly.

The blonde chuckled, sliding her hand down Rachel's arm. "I guess so."

The brunette leaned into her, and Quinn turned her head. The kiss landed on her jaw, and Rachel tried again to connect their lips, in vain. With a frustrated sigh, she resigned to having Quinn kiss up and down her neck, kneading her hands into the blonde's hips and running her hands along her thighs.

She tugged at the bathrobe string, pulling it open. Quinn pulled back to shrug out of its sleeves. Rachel's eyes darkened at the skimpy clothing that faced her, at the expansive plane of pale skin exposed to her.

Quinn shivered under her gaze, and rolled back as Rachel's hand traveled higher up to cup her chest. She bit her lip to stop the moan from slipping out when it was given a tender squeeze. All of the little gestures, little touches between them from earlier in the night flashed to the front of her mind. She briefly wondered what this was for Rachel, before pushing the thought from her mind. What did it matter?

Deciding it was time to take control, she wrapped her legs around the brunette's waist, smirking as Rachel gasped. Pulling herself upright, she latched her lips onto her pulse point, giving no mercy. The brunette staggered back, collapsing onto the bench. Quinn dropped her legs, falling into her lap more securely, and slid onto the floor, opening her legs so that she could sit between them.

As she worked on Rachel's collarbone, she ran her hands along the outside of Rachel's thighs to the inside, near her core, getting closer each time. And each time, the grip on her waist would tighten as she neared, and relax in frustration when she edged away. After hearing a sight growl, she unbuttoned the rest of the brunette's blouse and kissed her way down it, unhooking the bra as well. She focused her attention on Rachel's breasts as the brunette hooked a leg around her, giving her more access to her center. The blonde took the hint, and not wanting to be a terrible tease, immediately slipped her hand into the pants, rubbing circles onto the sensitive area.

When Rachel began to rock her hips into Quinn for more friction, the blonde slipped two fingers inside, biting her lip as Rachel's sudden gasp blew against her ear. A quiet moan sounded, though neither were quite sure who uttered it.

Again, Quinn thought, did it matter?

* * *

"Wake up. Time to shop."

Quinn groaned, tugging the blankets over her head. Why was the brunette up so early? When had she even left the bed? Quinn could've sworn she was a light sleeper, and would've noticed if Rachel had gotten up and moved around the room to get ready.

But, as she peeked out from the covers into the daylight, the brunette was standing fully dressed, smiling softly at her. This time, instead of slacks, she had on a form fitting sun dress. She held out a plastic card, and Quinn took it. "Now, if you have any trouble using this card, have them call the hotel. All right?"

Quinn nodded, and sighed. "More shopping?"

"Mm-hmm," Rachel said, pulling her hair into a messy bun. "I'm surprised you didn't buy more than one dress yesterday."

"Wasn't as much fun as I thought it was gonna be."

Rachel tilted her head, frowning. "Why not?"

Quinn sat up, shrugging. "They were mean to me."

Rachel quirked her eyebrow. "Mean to you?"

* * *

"People are looking at me," Quinn muttered, playing with the hem of her shirt.

Rachel rolled her eyes, looping her arm in Quinn's. "They're not looking at you; they're looking at me."

"The stores are not nice to people. I don't like it."

"Stores are never nice to people; they're nice to credit cards," Rachel said, smirking at her. "Okay, stop fidgeting. Get rid of your gum."

Quinn stood straighter, spitting her gum onto the sidewalk.

Rachel gazed at it wearily. "I can't believe you did that."

"What? Where else was I supposed to put it?"

"Oh, never mind, come on." Rachel tugged her into a store, and an employee quickly approached them. "I am Mr. St. James, the manager. May I help you?"

"I'm Rachel Berry."

"Ah, yes, miss." His smile grew. Quinn narrowed her eyes at him, suspicious.

Rachel gestured at Quinn. "You see this young lady over here."

"Yes."

"Do you have anything in this shop as beautiful as she is?"

"Oh, yes," he said, nodding. At Rachel's raised eyebrow, he backtracked. "Oh, no! No, no, no, I'm saying we have many things as beautiful as she would want them to be." He swallowed thickly as Quinn stifled a laugh. "That's the point I was getting at, and I think we can all agree with that. That's why when you came in—"

"Excuse me," Rachel interrupted. "We're gonna need a few more people helping us."

The manager nodded quickly, motioning for several employees to join him.

"I'll tell you why. We're going to be spending an obscene amount of money in here. So we're going to need a lot more help sucking up to us," Rachel continued. Quinn smiled at her, loving merciless Rachel. "That's what we really like. You understand that."

The manager smiled. "Miss, you're in the right store and the right city for that matter. Anything you see here, we can do, by the way. Get ready to have some fun. Come on. Bring it out, girls."

Rachel glanced at one of the dresses. "Oh, this is absolutely divine."

"Excuse me, Ms. Berry, uh…"

"Yes?"

"…exactly how obscene an amount of money were you talking about? Just profane or really offensive?"

Rachel smirked. "Really offensive."

The manager clapped his hands, turning to his workers. "I like her so much!"

A few moments later, Quinn had taken over the dressing rooms, using the hallway as a fashion runway. The employees were jumping over her, trying to appease her with various styles of dress.

The manager stopped by. "Ms. Berry, how's it going so far?"

"Pretty well, I think," Rachel said. "But I think we need some major sucking up."

The man's eyes widened. "Very well, miss. You're not only beautiful, but a powerful woman. I could see the second you walked in here, you were someone to reckon with—"

"St. James."

"Yes, miss?"

"Not me. Her." Rachel pointed to the blonde, who was strutting down the hallway in grey slacks and a slimming grey vest, with a white collared shirt underneath. She threw Rachel a wink, and spun on her heel, tossing her hair.

"I'm sorry, miss. I'm sorry."

* * *

**A/N: The song used for the piano scene was Sara Bareilles's "City," and I know it didn't exist back when this was set, but it was too perfect not to use.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: ****All rights belong to the writers, cast, and crew of Glee and **_**Pretty Woman. **_

Jules-Day**—yeah, David is supposed to be Karofsky (:**

**P.S. This chapter has my favorite line in it :D**

_Previously: _

_ "Not me. Her." Rachel pointed to the blonde, who was strutting down the hallway in grey slacks and a slimming grey vest, with a white collared shirt underneath. She threw Rachel a wink, and spun on her heel, tossing her hair._

_ "I'm sorry, miss. I'm sorry."_

* * *

Quinn twirled in a skirt, laughing at the entire situation she was currently in. She was on the nice side of the Hills, in one of the snobby shops, buying clothes that cost as much as her rent. Rachel even had the arrogant, nose-in-air staff kissing her ass. If she so much as moved an inch, they were all over her, offering her a variety of new outfits to try on as well as water, tissues, candy almonds…really, anything she might possibly want.

How the hell had she managed to get here, in this moment?

Luck? Retribution? God?

Well, whatever or whoever got her here wasn't the point. She was going to make the most of it while it lasted.

She slipped on a top and exited the dressing room, only to see Rachel duck out of the hallway, phone in hand. It seemed like it was connected to her ear today—more so than usual, anyway. Quinn sighed, walking over to the threefold of mirrors to examine the latest collage of fabrics. They weren't bad, they just weren't…her. They kind of felt like a mask, though that's probably what Rachel was aiming for. You couldn't exactly bring a hooker to business meetings and expect things to go well. You had to dress her up, like a doll.

Did Rachel get some kind of sick satisfaction out of this?

No, she had said she just wanted a professional. And besides, Quinn would get to keep the clothes. So did the motives really matter? Worse come to worse, she could give them to Santana.

She moved back into the dressing room, changing into a sundress. She picked up a floppy hat and put it on, turning to the mirror.

Christ, she looked like one of those chicks from the Bible belt. All she was missing were white gloves and the scriptures.

She let her hands drop to her sides, sighing. If only her mother could see her now, in this get-up. She'd be proud. She'd finally be proud.

Quinn dropped her eyes, fingering the hemline, and wondered what her mother was doing these days. _How_ she was doing.

There was a light knock on the door, and Rachel let herself in. Their eyes connected in the mirror. Quinn smiled and turned to face her, doing a light curtsy.

The brunette laughed, and stepped closer to give her a peck on the cheek. "You're on your own. I have to go back to work." She looked the blonde over, backing out of the door. "You look great!"

"Thanks," Quinn said, and leaned in the doorway, watching her go. She chuckled. No wonder the star had so many women break up with her. Rachel was a workaholic, and in complete denial of it.

"She has my card," the brunette said as she passed the manager.

He nodded, smiling. "And we'll help her use it, miss."

* * *

Countless outfits later, Quinn changed back into the clothes Rachel had let her borrow for the day and sidled up to the counter with an armful of clothes. The manager was quick to run to her side and assist in carrying the bundle. "Anything else you want, miss? Anything at all?"

The blonde took a last glance around the boutique, skimming each mannequin and shelf for something she—or one of her many attendants—may have missed. She shook her head slightly, before her gaze settled on the cute brunette ringing her out on the register. Her eyes narrowed as she took in the woman, noticing that she looked a lot like Rachel. They were probably the same size, same build, same everything. She smirked, deciding to push the staff and see just how far she could go.

"Miss?" the manager prompted.

She cleared her throat, nodding towards the cashier's yellow knit beret. "Rachel would love that hat."

St. James rounded on his employee, giving her a sickening smile. "Would you give her the hat?"

The woman's eyes widened. "The hat?"

"Take off the hat. Give her the hat," he growled, and Quinn guessed he was only moments away from ripping it off the poor girl's head himself.

Man, what people did for money.

This guy made her occupation look like charity.

The woman frowned, but removed her beret and placed it in the pile. The manager gave Quinn a smile. "She wants to do this, by the way."

The blonde snorted. Like hell she did. "Rachel will go crazy about this hat."

When the cashier was done bagging her clothes, the manager handed them to her and walked her out of the store. Quinn suspected he was nervous about the hat thing—if she had been the employee, she would've chased the customer out of the shop with a broom or something. Then again, that woman probably dealt with entitled assholes all her life, and Quinn…well, Quinn just dealt with assholes and dicks.

Stepping outside, she blinked against the sun and thanked the manager for his help. It was a nice change to have someone sucking up to her, for once. She wondered what Rachel had in mind, making them do that. Maybe it was because of the previous night.

Yeah, the sex was the best she'd had with a client, but that wasn't the highlight of her night and if she was being honest, she'd admit it was the singing. How could someone that tiny sound so…explosive?

It sure had made her night, and she hoped Rachel had felt better afterwards, too.

As she walked further down the road, she recognized a few of the shops, and shook her head. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

She picked up her pace, smirking as the passing people gave her a second glance. Yeah, take _that_, Rodeo Drive. She had class and an ass.

Quinn paused outside the store's front window first, making sure it was the same one. With a short nod, she gathered up her bags and strode into the boutique.

"May I help you?" a woman asked, falling in step with her pace.

"No, thank you." Quinn shrugged her off, making a beeline towards the woman in the back. "Hi."

The woman glanced up, surprised, from the mannequin she was dressing. "Hello?"

Quinn waited as the woman looked her over, gaze pausing on the large amount of bags she carried. She cleared her throat, and the woman's eyes snapped up to hers. "Do you remember me?"

She smiled, brow furrowing. "No, I'm sorry."

"I was in here yesterday," Quinn continued. "You wouldn't wait on me."

Realization sunk into the woman's features as she recalled the previous day's customers, and the sad looking stripper she had shamed out the door. "Oh."

Quinn smirked, a hand dropping to her hip. She tilted her head a little. "You work on commission, right?"

The woman swallowed. "Uh, yes."

"Big mistake. Big. _Huge_!" Quinn laughed, and spun on her heel to strut out of the shop, raising up the numerous bags to display. "I have to go shopping now."

* * *

Quinn reclined onto the love seat, flipping through a magazine. She sat up a little straighter when she heard the key in the door and the click of the lock, frowning when she heard Finn's voice.

She glanced around for something to cover herself with. Where were the blankets? Weren't hotels supposed to have blankets thrown over chairs and stuff?

"Rachel, excuse me for saying this, but what the hell is wrong with you this week? Are you givin' Schue a chance to get away?"

She waited for them to move into the room, but it seemed like Rachel was determined to keep the conversation in the doorway. Huh, maybe she was growing some guts. That guy was an ass. If it was up to Quinn, he'd be fired by now.

Quinn exhaled, sinking back into the chair.

"You know what I used to love when I was a kid, Finn?"

She heard him sigh. "What?"

"Blocks. Building blocks."

Quinn quirked an eyebrow, amused. Was this what Rachel talked about when she went to work? Childhood and blocks?

"So, I liked Monopoly. Boardwalk, Park Place. Wh-what's the point?"

"We don't build anything, Finn. We don't make anything lasting."

"We make money and entertainment, Rachel. Trust me, we've worked this hard to get and keep sponsors, let's finish the job and hook him. Let's finish this. Call him and finish it!"

There was a pause. "Finn, look. Mr. Schuster and his son have dreams. They want to build something. I want to help them. But I can't force or manipulate them."

"Rachel—"

"Goodbye, Finn."

The door whooshed shut with a quiet click, and Quinn leaned back in the chair, winking at the brunette once she came into view. "How was your day, baby?"

Rachel shook her head, dropping her things onto the table. "Unbearable."

Quinn stood from the couch, dropping the magazine. Rachel double-took the blonde, blushing slightly.

She was completely nude, except for a yellow knit beret perched on top of her blonde head and a pair of black, pointed heels.

Yeah, Rachel was definitely crazy about that hat. She swallowed around the sudden bulge in her throat. "Nice hat."

"I got it for you," Quinn said, slinking her way over, letting her hips roll with each step.

"D-did you?"

The blonde nodded, before closing the distance between them. She leaned in, lips pressed against the shell of Rachel's left ear. "I'll be in the bath."

She ran her hands down the brunette's arm, giving a light squeeze, before striding into the other room.

Rachel stood, gaping after her.

What the hell had she come home to?

If this was the result of scaring a bunch of workers into being human suck ups, she'd gladly do it all day, every day.

"Are you coming?" husked a voice, bath water audibly running.

Rachel shook herself out of her shocked state and began stripping, leaving a trail of discarded items behind her.

Because, let's face it, she was going to need some help finding her way back. The blonde could be _a little _disorienting. Especially when she was lacking clothes.

* * *

"Well, my Daddy, Hiram, was a music teacher..." Rachel began, eyes fluttering shut as Quinn pressed a loofah against her back, "and married my Dad, Leroy, whose family was extremely wealthy. Then he divorced my Dad to be with another man. And he took his money with him. And then Dad died."

The blonde hummed, tugging Rachel gently so that she leaned back, into her front. Rachel sighed, letting Quinn scrub her body with the sponge. She played with the excess bubbles, debating whether or not she wanted to continue.

After a moment's hesitation, she spoke again. "I was very angry with him." The brunette chuckled without any real humor. Quinn frowned. "It cost me a lot of money in therapy to say that sentence." She rested her head on the blonde's shoulder, one side of her lips quirking into a half-smile. "I was very angry with him."

Quinn bit her lip, running the sponge over Rachel's chest. The brunette peeked at her. "I do it very well, don't I? I'll say it again. I was very angry with him. Hello, my name is Ms. Berry. I'm very angry with my father."

The blonde snorted, chucking the loofah at the other side of the bath. "I would've been angry at the amount of money spent for therapy."

Rachel chuckled, tucking her head under the blonde's chin. She felt the woman's lips press against the top of her head, before she dipped her head to whisper. "Did I mention my leg is fourty-four inches from hip to toe, so, basically, we're talking about eighty-eight inches of therapy..." Quinn moved both legs around Rachel's waist, acting like a koala, "…wrapped around you for the bargain price of…"

"Three thousand dollars." Rachel smiled, finishing the sentence with her.

"Yeah," Quinn said and giggled into her neck.

Rachel ran her arms along the blonde's legs. "Too bad this wasn't here ten years ago."

"But it's here now," Quinn murmured, peppering kisses along the brunette's wet shoulder. Rachel hummed, and tilted her head to give the blonde more access. Rachel trailed her nails further up Quinn's legs, gently scratching at the inside of her thighs. She felt the blonde's breath blow out against her neck, and shivered. When the blonde's koala grip loosened, Rachel pulled her around front, so that she straddled her lap instead. The bath water sloshed around the tub, overflowing a little as they slipped on the tile.

The brunette dunked underwater, hands flying out to push herself back up. When she broke through the surface, she sputtered water, blinking against wet eyelashes. Quinn wasn't faring much better, feet in the air. Rachel reached out to try to right her, but a quick flip flop later, the blonde gasped for air, spitting out bath water. There was a pile of bubble suds on top of her head, sliding down along the sides of her face. The brunette's hands flew to her hips, searching for stability.

Quinn dug her heels against the bottom, finally gaining balance, and pinned Rachel against the side. Rachel lolled her head back, laughing. "That could have gone smoother."

The blonde let out a low chuckle. "Hey, I've dealt with worse."

"Mm-hmm," the brunette said, tipping her head up to look into the blonde's eyes. They were a little golder than usual, with a few flecks of green. Quinn's eyebrows knit together, forcing her to look up. Before the blonde could say anything, Rachel leaned forward, kissing the very edge of her mouth. She pulled back, and cupped Quinn's jaw, rubbing her thumb lightly over the hooker's parted lips.

"Rachel…"

"I know," she murmured, glancing back up to meet her gaze. "No kissing on the mouth."

* * *

"_Ebersol of the Falcons passes to Kennan. This is Bill Fricker with Gwen Olsen giving you play-by-play of this marvelous charity event," _the announcer called over the speakers.

"Watch where you're walking," Finn said, dragging his wife along. "If you step in something, we're not going back to the car."

Rachel and Quinn trailed the couple, far enough behind that he wasn't aware of their presence. The brunette was sure he would charge at her with fifty questions once he saw her. She knew the polo match was a business meeting, mingling with sponsors and fans again, but she just wanted to spend the day with Quinn, in their own little bubble. It was hard enough leaving the bubble bath to come here.

The blonde was quickly replacing the light at the end of her tunnel.

"Not too near the tree," the lawyer grumbled. Quinn and Rachel exchanged a glance, wondering why on earth his wife was still with him. "I don't like the ants. Have you seen Rachel anywhere?"

Rachel cursed under her breath and yanked Quinn into another direction, escaping the inevitable. Quinn chuckled, rolling her eyes. The brunette slowed down as they neared the stands and took Quinn's hand in her own.

The blonde paused, looking up at the bleachers nervously. Rachel's brow furrowed, and she moved to stand in front of her, linking her arms around Quinn's waist. Hazel eyes flicked down to meet her gaze. "What if someone recognizes me?"

"Not likely. They don't spend too much time on Hollywood Blvd," Rachel assured her, playing with the hem of Quinn's jacket vest.

She raised an eyebrow. "You did."

Rachel rolled her eyes, taking the blonde's hand. "Come on. Let's go." The blonde allowed herself to be led to the stands, arms linking. The brunette leaned into her, voice dropping to a whisper. "You look great. You're gonna have a wonderful time." She gave her a reassuring squeeze. "Okay? Don't fidget and smile."

_"Humboldt's coming around to this side. Toquenee is on Kennan. Penalty on that play." _

The two sat down, Rachel taking Quinn's arm and wrapping it around herself. Catching sight of two redheads coming their way, Rachel nudged the blonde. "Those are Gwen and Gretchen, the infamous Olsen twins, who have made marrying well an art form."

Quinn followed her gaze, shifting slightly. Rachel scooted closer to her and placed a hand on the small of her back to keep her in place. She nodded at the two sisters when they arrived. "Good afternoon, ladies."

"Rachel, hello," Gwen said, smirking.

"Didn't think we'd see you here," Gretchen added. "This isn't really your scene."

Rachel sighed. "Yeah, well. Have to please the sponsors, make an appearance."

"Really?" Gwen said, arching an eyebrow.

"Since when do you _make an appearance_?" Gretchen mocked, laughing with her sister. "We all know Finn kisses ass for you."

Rachel felt Quinn's fingers twitching on her hip, and reached down to entwine them. The gesture wasn't lost to the twins, and Gwen frowned, nostrils flaring.

"So, you're the flavor of the month. Hmm."

"_Gwen_," Rachel warned.

"Uh, she's just being testy," Gretchen intervened, gazing at Quinn. "Rachel's our most eligible bachelorette. Everybody is trying to land her."

Rachel felt the blonde's grip tighten, and glanced between the women, curious to see how the blonde would respond.

"Well, I'm not trying to land her," Quinn replied, pressing her lips into a thin smirk. "I'm just using her for sex."

Rachel's mouth dropped open and she moved her jaw, trying to figure out how to react to the blonde's claim.

The redhead twins weren't fairing much better, both agape with shock.

Finally Gretchen broke the air. "Oh, yes."

Gwen huffed, trudging away with her sister trotting close behind.

"Well done," Rachel murmured, turning to face the blonde, who was biting back a smug smile. "Well done," she repeated, louder, and bent over laughing.

The blonde shook her head, grinning. "Tell me again why we're here."

"Business," Rachel replied, straightening back up.

"Business mingling?"

"Yeah."

The air horn blew, signaling the break in play. _"That's the chukker, ladies and gentlemen. Falcons, seven. Gems, four."_

"Excuse me," a familiar voice broke through the crowd. Rachel glanced over to see Finn shoving his way through a crowd. They locked eyes, and Finn started towards them. "Rachel! Rachel. I've been looking everywhere for you."

The brunette groaned. "Finn."

"Good to see you," Finn's wife pitched in.

"You too," Rachel replied, smiling. She gestured to the blonde. "I want you to meet a new friend of mine, Quinn Fabray."

The lawyer gave her his lopsided grin, jutting out a hand. "Well, hi. Finn Hudson. This is my wife, Kitty. It's always a pleasure meeting one of Rachel's girls."

The brunette shot him a glare. She didn't date around _that_ much, did she? This was the second person to call her a slut to her face in the past thirty minutes. She glanced at Quinn, hoping she wasn't judging her.

The blonde shook their hands, before Finn's wife gasped. "Oh, my God! It's Tate Whitley Wallington. Tate! It's me, Kitty, from Workout World."

Finn watched his wife run off towards the celebrity, and shrugged. "She's sort of an aerobics queen. Feel the burn."

Quinn and Rachel exchanged a glance, both suppressing a laugh.

"Well, let me get you something to drink," Finn continued. He handed the blonde the extra wine glass in his hand. "Quinn, why don't you start with that. Okay?" He looked at Rachel expectantly.

Rachel stared back at him blankly. He huffed, storming off when she made no move to follow him.

Quinn chuckled beside her. "So that's your lawyer."

Rachel nodded, snorting. "Real genuine guy."

"You could freeze ice on his wife's ass."

"Maybe we'll try that later," Rachel teased.

Quinn laughed, then sighed. "Are these people your friends?"

Rachel hesitated. "I spend time with them, yeah."

"Well, no wonder."

Rachel frowned, searching Quinn's face for a clue. "No wonder what?"

The blonde smirked, giving her a light shove. "No wonder why you came looking for me."

_"And I do need some help from you ladies and gentlemen in the audience. We need you to help replace some of the divots out here on the grass. So come on out now. Come on! Come on, folks."_

Quinn snorted, watching all of the fans spread out onto the field, flipping over patches of grass and pressing them back into the ground with the heels of their feet.

"You heard him," Rachel said, tugging Quinn up from the bleachers. "The stomping of the divots."

_"This is a time-honored tradition, ladies and gentlemen. As old as the game of polo itself. Kings and queens used to do this."_

"Yeah, but I bet the kings and queens weren't wearing heels that cost as much as a month's worth of food," Quinn muttered, protesting. Rachel only shook her head, pushing her out onto the field. They strayed apart a little, finding what divots were left.

As Rachel watched the blonde from a distance, amused at her excessive stomping, Finn appeared at her side. "She's sweet, Rachel. Where'd you find her?"

The brunette rolled her eyes. "1-800-BABE."

_"Only one word of advice: Avoid the steaming divot!"_

Rachel glanced over to catch the blonde's eyes widen, and laughed.

"_No, it's all part of the game of polo. You get to have your shoes polished by a member of the club."_

The crowd made its way back off the field, where the players were mingling. The brunette began to make her way back to Quinn, smiling as she looked down at her muddy heels. "I think I got something in the car that will buff that up."

"Thank you," Quinn said.

"Just give me a sec, okay?"

The blonde nodded, watching her go. She jumped when she felt a tap on the shoulder, and spun around to face the young man they had met for dinner.

"Quinn, hi. David Schuster."

"David," Quinn said, smiling. She took in the riding jacket and boots he was wearing, and assumed he must be playing. Rachel hadn't mentioned that earlier. Did she know? The blonde shook her head, fixing her attention on the man in front of her. "How are you?"

"I'm okay," he replied, putting his hands in his pockets. "I thought that was you. I like this hat." He nodded towards the tan fedora she donned.

"It's new," she said, ducking her head.

"Come meet my horse, Quinn."

She hesitated. "Well, Rachel's waiting for me."

"He's right here," David said, pointing to a barn a few paces away.

The blonde bit her lip, glancing around for Rachel. With no sight of the brunette, she nodded. "Okay, I'll—just for a second, though."

He smiled and led her to one of the stalls, where a large brown horse was chewing on hay. Quinn stepped forward, running her hand along its neck. "I didn't know you were playing today."

David nodded. "Yeah, it's a hobby. You know, when I'm not trying to patch up Hollywood with my Dad."

Quinn laughed.

* * *

Rachel returned, shoe buff in hand but no blonde in sight.

"She went into the barn," Finn said, behind her.

She grumbled. "Thank you, Finn."

"Wait."

The brunette paused, facing him. "Yes?"

"Seriously, where'd you find this girl?"

Rachel hesitated. "Uh, I was asking for directions. There she was."

"Oh, so you just ran into her?" Finn said, skeptical. "That's great. Jesus."

Rachel nodded, and turned to find the blonde. Finn ran ahead of her, standing in her way. "So anyway, what does she do? Does she work?"

"She's in sales," Rachel said, trying to step around him.

He matched her step. "Sales? That's terrific. That's good. What does she sell?"

Rachel huffed, frustrated. She fixed him with a steady glare. "Why do you want to know?"

"Just hear me out on this," Finn said, placing a hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off. "I've known you a long time. I see some differences in you this week, like the beret—"

"What's wrong with the beret?" Rachel asked, reaching up to adjust the knit cap self-consciously.

Finn gave her a look. "Look, it's a great hat. Just not the kinda thing you wear for business."

Rachel glared at him. The hat was fine. The hat had been given to her by a very sexy, very nude blonde. The hat was staying. "What's your point, Finn?"

"Uh—I'm wondering if maybe this girl isn't the difference, especially when I see her talking to David Schuster."

Rachel followed his line of sight, seeing Quinn was indeed with Schuster's son. They were walking out of the barn, her arms clasped behind her back like a schoolgirl with a crush. Something flared up in her heart. "I introduced them at dinner the other night."

"So what?" Finn continued. "Now they're best friends ? This girl appears out of nowhere. Now she's talking to a guy whose support we're trying to win over. Convenient, don't you think?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Rachel said, her eyes still on the blonde. It wasn't true, that much she knew. But something else was setting her off about the situation. Something she didn't want to acknowledge or analyze at the moment. All she knew was that she had to get away from Finn and reclaim her date.

Er, acquaintance.

"How do you know that this girl hasn't attached herself to you because she's bringing information back to Schuster? This happens! Espionage—"

"Finn," Rachel cut in, sighing. "Finn, listen to me."

"What?"

Rachel bit her lip, lowering her voice. "She's not a spy. She is a hooker."

He stammered, "O-oh!"

Rachel tried to ignore the way his eyes glazed over. "I picked her up on Hollywood Boulevard. In your car."

Finn laughed. "Oh, you're kidding!"

"Finn."

"Oh, man," he said, "you're the only millionaire I ever heard of who goes looking for a bargain basement streetwalker, you know?"

Rachel rolled her eyes. "I'm sorry I told you." She shoved past him, heading towards Quinn. Before she could approach them, however, one of her sponsors stopped her to talk. A mayor. She couldn't exactly brush off a _mayor_. Instead, she nodded, only half listening to his praise, watching as David left Quinn's side. She relaxed, attention returning to the man in front of her.

* * *

The blonde watched David go, thankful for at least one normal person at this awful gathering. How did Rachel live with people like this on a daily basis?

"Having a nice time, Quinn?"

She turned to find Finn, and feigned a smile. "Yeah, I'm having a great time."

"Must be quite a change from Hollywood Boulevard, hmm?"

Her jaw clenched, and she swallowed thickly. "What?"

"Yeah, Rachel told me," he said, leaning closer. "But don't worry; you're secret is safe with me."

She shrunk away from him, putting some distance between them. Rachel did _what?_ She eyed the woman across the grass, fuming.

"Listen, maybe, uh, you and I could get together sometime...after Rachel leaves."

"Yeah, sure. Why not?" she snapped.

"We'll just have to do that, hmm?" he continued, and reached out to touch her hair. Before he could, his wife called out for him, and he scurried away. Quinn stormed off in the opposite direction.

Where was the car, again?

_"Hi, tailgaters. I'd like to mention a couple of our silver sponsors: Jacobs Distributors, Norrell Saddlery, and we'd like to give a great big thanks to our platinum sponsor, Rachel Berry Enterprises."_ The air horn blew, signaling the continuation of the match. Quinn gave up looking for an escape and settled on a distraction, leaning against the fence. She squinted against the sun. Which team did David say he was on?

_"The ball is in for chukker number four."_

* * *

"You all right?" Rachel said, trying again.

The blonde continued to stare out from the balcony. "I'm fine."

"Fine. That's good. Seven 'fines' since we left the match." Rachel leaned against the doorway. "Could I have another word, please?"

Quinn spun around, eyes narrowed. "Asshole! There's a word."

Rachel blinked. "I think I liked 'fine' better."

"You know what?" Quinn shouted, throwing her hands up. "Just tell me one thing: Why did you make me get all dressed up?"

"Well, for one thing, the clothing was appropriate."

"No, what I mean is, if you were gonna tell everybody I'm a hooker, why didn't you just let me wear my own clothes, okay?"

Rachel frowned. "I did not—I didn't—"

"I mean, in my own clothes, when someone like that guy Hudson comes up to me, I can handle it; I'm prepared."

The brunette tried to sort through the day. She couldn't remember anyone giving Quinn a hard time, but knew it was like Finn to say something inappropriate. She sighed, fixing her gaze on the ground. "I'm very sorry. I'm not happy with Finn at all for saying or doing that. But he thought you were some kind of industrial spy. The guy's paranoid."

Quinn nodded, crossing her arms. She took a few steps forward, invading the brunette's space. "Are you my pimp now? You think you can pass me around to your friends?"

Rachel glanced up at her, shocked, and stammered.

Quinn poked her in the chest angrily. "I'm not some little toy!"

"Look, I know you're not my toy," Rachel protested, trying to catch the blonde's hands in her own, but she shoved past her, heading towards the bathroom. "Quinn! Quinn, I'm speaking to you. Come back here!"

The blonde locked the door behind her, leaning back against it as Rachel knocked on it and jiggled the doorknob unsuccessfully.

There was a beat of silence, before an audible sigh. "I hate to point out the obvious, but you are, in fact, a hooker! And you are my employee."

A blunt thud sounded, and Rachel assumed the blonde had thrown a punch into the wall. "Look, you don't own me. I decide, okay?"

"Quinn—"

"I say who; I say when; I-I say who—"

Rachel backed up a few paces, throwing all her weight onto the door. The old lock gave way, and she was faced with an angry, wild blonde curled in the empty bathtub. Rachel stood over her. "I refuse to spend the next three days fighting with you. I said I was sorry. I meant it. That's the end of it!"

Quinn glared at her, pulling her legs into her chest. "I'm sorry I ever met you. I'm sorry I ever got into your stupid car!"

Rachel snorted. "As if you had so many more appealing options."

The blonde buried her head into her arms, tension in her body giving out as her voice dropped to a low murmur. "I've never had anyone make me feel as cheap as you did today."

The brunette scoffed. "Somehow, I find that very hard to believe."

Quinn stood slowly, leveling her gaze with Rachel, before moving to the main room. Rachel was close behind, half-running to keep up with the blonde's long, determined strides. "Where are you going?"

"I want my money. I want to get out of here."

Rachel sighed. "Come on!"

Quinn pocketed a wad of cash, opening the door and pushing the elevator button. She kept her gaze focused on the shiny, gold doors before her. If she looked into the brown eyes that were set on her, she was afraid she'd unravel. Or worse, stay.

After a moment, Rachel moved from the doorway to Quinn's side, leaving only a few inches between them. "I'm sorry." When Quinn didn't start yelling, she continued. "I wasn't prepared to answer questions about us. It was stupid and cruel." She dipped her head, trying to meet Quinn's eyes. "I didn't mean it. I-I don't want you to go."

The blonde shut her eyes, fiddling with the hem of her shirt.

Rachel reached over, taking the hand in hers. "Will you stay the week?"

"Why?" the blonde muttered.

Rachel paused, looking down at their hands. "I saw you talking to David; I didn't like it."

"We were just talking."

Rachel chuckled. "I know. I didn't like it."

When she looked back up, Quinn had opened her eyes, and was gazing at her, wearily. The elevator pinged, and the bellhop stepped out, smiling. "Down?" he asked, cheerfully, looking between the two, who ignored him.

"You hurt me," Quinn said.

Rachel bit her lip. "Yes."

Quinn stared at her, before walking back through the penthouse door. "Don't do it again."

Rachel nodded, following after her.

The bellhop watched them go. He stepped back into the elevator, shaking his head. "Lesbians."

* * *

The brunette was in bed first, reading a book as she waited for Quinn to finish up in the shower. The blonde had accepted her apology, and promised she would finish the week, but Rachel was still worried. She knew she had hurt the woman, and regretted how she had acted in the argument.

Over dinner the blonde had avoided eye contact. Rachel only hoped it would be forgotten in the morning.

She heard Quinn come into the room and change into an old t-shirt and cotton shorts, slipping into the other side of the bed. Rachel glanced over from her book, a small prick stabbing her heart when she noticed the blonde was about as far on the edge as she could be.

With a sigh, she set a bookmark in place, put the book onto the table, and switched off the light.

Adjusting sheets sounded like banging pans in this awkward silence. Rachel gave up trying to be comfortable, and laid on her back, staring at the ceiling. She closed her eyes and wished that sleep would come to her soon.

A few moments later, the sheets rustled beside her. She felt a body inch closer to her, pausing a foot away. Rachel turned her head, squinting in the dark. She made out Quinn's frame, hovering near her. Neither said a word. The blonde, reaching a decision over the internal conflict, closed the distance between them. She laid her head on Rachel's shoulder, letting her curves fit against the brunette's. She hooked their ankles together, looking for comfort in contact.

Rachel's tongue was brimming with questions, but she bit down, knowing the blonde would come to her only on her own terms.

Just as she was falling asleep, quiet words reached her ears.

"First guy I ever loved was a total nothing," Quinn whispered, playing with their fingers. She could feel Rachel's gaze on her, but was afraid of what she'd find in them if she looked. So instead, she closed her eyes, focusing on the warmth of Rachel's body. "Second was worse. My mother called me a bum magnet. If there was a bum within a fifty-mile radius, I was completely attracted to him."

Rachel ran her hand through Quinn's hair, smiling softly at the blonde's exhausted state. Her hazel eyes were hooded, and she never remained this close to the brunette for this long. The brunette began to trace patterns on her shoulder.

"But my mother preferred the bums to, you know, any kind of woman. Once she found out I was a lesbian, she sent me away, at first. Tried to pray away the gay. When I came back, not cured, I became the scandal of the family, dirtying the Fabray name. The rumor circulated through church, through school…" Quinn sighed. "It's not an option, being gay, in a small town in the Bible belt. My mother didn't kick me out, but she stopped seeing me as her daughter. So I left."

"Oh."

"And there I was: no money, no friends, no scandals."

Rachel felt Quinn shrug. "So you chose this as your profession?"

Quinn chuckled, vibrations sending a shiver up Rachel's spine. "I worked at a couple fast food places, parked cars at wrestling. And I couldn't make the rent. I was too ashamed to go home. I mean, adding 'hooker' to being a lesbian? They'd burn me on a stake."

Rachel laughed, not doubting her words.

"Anyway, that's when I met Santana. She was a hooker and made it sound so great. So one day I did it. I cried the whole time." She hesitated, clearing her throat. "But then I got some regulars and, you know—it's not like anybody plans this; it's not your childhood dream."

Rachel sensed the defensive shift, and pressed a kiss onto her head. "You could be so much more."

Quinn shook her head. "People put you down enough, you start to believe it."

"I think you are a beautiful woman, prettiest I've seen. But you're also much more than that, Quinn."

The blonde sighed, tucking her body further into the contours of Rachel's. She closed her eyes, ready to drift off. "Yeah, well, the bad stuff is easier to believe."

* * *

**Hah, the scene where she returns to that store kills me every time. **_BIG mistake._** (:**

**How 'bout you guys? Favorite lines, scenes, moments? Parts you hated, loathed?**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything.**

**A/N: Sorry it took so long to get this out (don't hate me). :c**

_Previously:_

_ Quinn shook her head. "People put you down enough, you start to believe it."_

_ "I think you are a beautiful woman, prettiest I've seen. But you're also much more than that, Quinn."_

_ The blonde sighed, tucking her further body into the contours of Rachel's. She closed her eyes, ready to drift off. "Yeah, well, the bad stuff is easier to believe."_

* * *

"Tell him I'll call him on Monday," Rachel said, picking up her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. She glanced at the papers scattered across the table one more time and sighed.

"Yes, ma'am."

They were facing last minute paperwork of her Hollywood venture. Well, it wasn't so much last minute as put off, procrastinated, but it was pile after pile regardless. Rachel had expected more time. Time that wouldn't be filled with a sexy and intriguing blonde.

She hadn't anticipated the Schuster situation, either. The battle to assist a resolute, stubborn father and his loyal son while staying on their good side was near impossible. And there was the polo match, where David had grown all good and cozy with Quinn—who knew what was going on there, she'd always thought the kid was as straight as a circle. But what exactly could she say? What was she _allowed_ to say?

She reached out, picking up the card key and slapped it lightly against her palm in a decisive beat. With a final nod at the paperwork, which was halfway done, she stepped out of the conference room. The door shut with a small click behind her, and she made her way to the elevator.

Rachel shifted her weight impatiently as the elevator slowly creaked down to her level. She debated taking the stairs to get there faster.

"Where you going?" A familiar voice called out from behind her, and she cringed. "Rachel, you can't disappear now. We're in this too deep."

Rachel exhaled, screwing her eyes shut. "Don't panic, Finn. Mr. Schue isn't going anywhere. I'll be back here in the morning." She paused, eyebrows furrowing, and turned to the intern that had followed Finn. "Did you send the tickets to the hotel?"

"Um, yes."

The brunette nodded. "Thank you."

"Of course." The intern looked up at Finn to see if he needed anything. When neither spoke, he scuttled across the lobby, making an escape before his shift turned into overtime, yet again.

As the elevator pinged, Finn moved in front of the doors, effectively blocking her."Where are you going?"

Rachel huffed. "I have a date."

"With the hooker?"

"Be careful, Finn," she warned, clenching her jaw.

He held her stare for a moment longer. Then, recognizing that his boss always had the final say, whether or not he knew best, he stepped aside, dropping his head in frustration when she brushed past him.

"Have a good night," he muttered darkly, storming off.

Rachel pinched the bridge of her nose, not in the mood to reprimand him. She considered cancelling the reservation and just staying in, ordering room service for another night.

But when she walked into the bedroom, immediately faced with a gorgeous blonde in a slimming red gown, she knew they were going out. Her lips were a matching shade of bright crimson, and Rachel had a hard time looking away.

"Do I look okay?" the blonde asked, catching her gaze in the mirror. She ran her hands down her sides, smoothing out invisible wrinkles in the fabric.

Rachel bit her lip to stop a smile and moved closer, tilting her head to the side. "Mmm."

Quinn turned to face her, hand falling in place on her hip as she raised an eyebrow. "Mmm?"

"Something's missing," the brunette said, taking another small step forward.

"Well, nothing else is going fit into this dress," Quinn said, chuckling. "I can tell you that much."

Rachel smiled softly, eyes dropping to the floor as she brought her hands in front of her, holding a black felt box. "Well, maybe something in this." She glanced up. Quinn's brow creased, her gaze flicking between Rachel and the case. "I don't want you to get too excited. This is only on loan."

Hesitantly, she opened the clasp and revealed a diamond necklace, that glittered in a thousand places, reflecting light. Set in the middle of each circle of diamonds was a ruby. The necklace was practically glowing on its own. Quinn laughed quietly, eyes widening. She reached out, pausing to meet Rachel's gaze, before touching the jewels.

Rachel quickly shut the top on the blonde's fingers, causing Quinn to jump and squeak. She smirked as Quinn smacked her arm, and they both laughed.

The brunette shook her head, grinning, and took the necklace out of the box. She gestured for Quinn to turn, so she could attach the clasp. The blonde obliged, fingering the necklace in awe. It was heavy, hanging around her neck. She swallowed, and felt it against her throat. "They really let you borrow this from the jewelry store?"

Rachel nodded, wrapping her arms around Quinn's waist and resting her chin on her shoulder. "I'm a very good customer."

"If you were going buy this, how much would it cost?" Quinn asked, resting her arms on the brunette's.

"Quarter of a million," Rachel replied.

Quinn blinked, laughing nervously. "A quarter of a million dollars?" The brunette nodded, missing the anxious look, and withdrew her arms from the blonde to get ready for dinner. She rifled through the closet, pulling out a long black dress with a red tie around the waist.

"So, where are we going?" the blonde asked, sitting down on the bed. Her eyes raked down the brunette's form, reveling in her nimble movements.

"It's a surprise." Rachel pulled on the shoulder straps, struggling with the back zipper.

"Here, let me," Quinn said. She took the zipper between her fingers, and dragged it up slowly, drawing in the warmth of the brunette's skin. She felt a shudder shoot through Rachel's spine, and smirked. When the dress was on, she pressed into Rachel, nuzzling into her neck. The brunette closed her eyes, trying to ignore the moan building within her from the combination of the heat on her back and the cool breath below her ear.

"If I forget to tell you later, I had a really good time tonight," Quinn murmured. "Thank you."

Rachel managed to nod, not trusting herself to speak.

Why did they have to go out, again?

Then, the blonde let her go, moving into the bathroom. Rachel exhaled, rolling her shoulders. "Berry, get a hold of yourself," she muttered.

But, she knew. No one else had helped her lose control quite like this before. It was thrilling, it was invigorating. It was Quinn.

And she was falling.

Hard.

* * *

"When you're not fidgeting, you look very beautiful," Rachel said, eyes shining, "and very tall."

Quinn chuckled, taking Rachel's offered arm and stepping out of the limousine. The sky was a hue of orange and yellow, the sun falling just below the horizon. She squinted against the light, recognizing the flat, large plane of concrete as an airport. They had pulled up in front of a small plane.

She looked around, but could see no other passengers.

Correction. They were taking a _private_ jet.

A man in uniform stepped out of the hatch. "Well, it should be a pretty smooth flight, Ms. Berry. The weather is clear all the way up to San Francisco. We should be there in about fifty minutes."

Quinn frowned. "We're going to be late."

"No, it's all right," Rachel said, leading her into the airplane. "Opening night never starts on time."

"Okay," Quinn said, sitting by the window. As the plane moved into position on the runway, she bit her lip and turned to Rachel. "I've, uhm, never flown before."

Rachel smiled, and took her hand, giving it a squeeze. "You'll love it. The view is much better than my balcony."

Quinn's eyes widened as the plane picked up speed, tilting its nose into the air. Her grip tightened on the brunette's hand. Rachel winced, and leaned over to whisper in the blonde's ear.

"Hey, Q, it's going to be okay," she assured her. "The angle is a good sign. It means we're going up, and we won't run into the chain-link fence and crash into a nearby building and die in explosion or be burned alive."

A corner of the blonde's mouth quirked up, amused. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Rachel said, nodding. "Your ears will probably pop soon, okay? We'll just chew some gum, and it'll help."

"That's the most absurd thing I've heard," Quinn said, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

Rachel chuckled. "Just trust me."

The blonde let out a sigh, closing her eyes.

Trust, right. She could do that, couldn't she?

* * *

"Program, miss."

"Thank you," Rachel said, taking the paper.

The employee nodded, and motioned for the two to follow him. "Right this way, Ms. Berry." He took them up a winding marble staircase and down a long hallway. They passed curtained off seats on the way, and when they reached the end, he pulled back the drape to display balcony seats, overlooking the entire amphitheatre.

Rachel took Quinn's hand and led her into the alcove.

"Rachel? Is that you, hon?" A woman asked, peeping over from the next seating area. The brunette smiled, letting go of Quinn to greet the old family friend.

"Doris, how nice to see you," Rachel replied warmly. "How are you?"

The older woman nodded, saying she was well. After an offer to catch up over coffee was accepted, the brunette sat down, and glanced over to find Quinn hanging over the ledge in awe. She leaned further forward, and Rachel fidgeted, resisting the urge to drag her away and sit her down, away from danger. "Hey, come here. You gotta see at this."

"It's all right." The brunette bit her lip, humming. "I've already seen it."

The blonde looked over her shoulder, catching Rachel's small, concerned smile. She rolled her eyes, plopping down beside the brunette. "If you're afraid of heights, why do you get seats up here?"

Rachel shrugged. "Because they're the best."

"Is there anything else, miss?" the staff member piped up from behind them.

"No, thank you."

"The glasses are there. Enjoy the opera."

Rachel nodded her thanks and turned to find Quinn picking up the gold glasses, flipping them around.

"Oh!" The blonde said, sitting up straighter. "So, you said this is in Italian."

"Uh-huh," Rachel affirmed, watching as the blonde attempted to set the glasses in place.

"So how am I going to know what they're singing?" she asked, frowning. The spectacles collapsed on itself once again, and she huffed. "These are broken. Mine are broken."

"No, no," Rachel said, taking it from her hand. She flicked it in her wrist, letting it go over the arc and rest in place, securely held up. "There."

The blonde blushed, taking the glasses back. "Oh."

"You'll know," Rachel added. "Believe me, you'll understand. The music's very powerful."

Quinn squinted through the spectacles at the stage. "There's a band!"

Rachel chuckled, nodding. There was a flicker of the lights, and then they dimmed. The chatter below them hushed, and the brunette leaned closer to Quinn, letting their arms brush. "People's reactions to opera the first time they see it is very dramatic. They either love it or they hate it. If they love it, they will always love it." She paused. "If they don't, they may learn to appreciate it, but it will never become part of their soul."

Quinn forced herself to tear her gaze away from the brown eyes swirling with emotions. She had the feeling that Rachel had spoken about more than opera, but repressed the notion, unable to analyze it in the moment. She hummed in acknowledgement instead, shifting her attention to the scene unfolding in front of them. The orchestra picked up, covering her erratic heartbeat.

As she sat through the four acts, she could tell Rachel's eyes were on her more than the opera. Quinn held the glasses in her lap, fiddling with them. She was thankful for the dark theatre, knowing it would hide her nervousness from the brunette.

But what would she do, after this?

Quinn knew she should call it quits, or at least sleep on the couch instead of in her client's bed. It was causing feelings. Unacceptable feelings. Feelings that led to her being nervous under the brunette's eyes, the fluttering in her chest, and the, the _compassion_.

Never before had she faced compassion.

She'd faced lust, revenge, sleaziness, pity, sorrow, self-hatred, loneliness, anger, judgment, and even apathy, but never _compassion_.

She could practically feel the emotion radiating out from Rachel's pores. It was like her very soul was oozing out, right into Quinn's hands.

What was she expected to do? What was she supposed to do with all that gooey compassion?

Rachel cared about her, that much was evident. She wasn't sick or twisted, like some of her other clients were. This business arrangement wasn't just for kicks, it wasn't just some way for the brunette to get self-satisfaction. If it had been, she wouldn't have held onto the blonde so tightly. Why stick with one, troublesome hooker when there's a city full of them?

Quinn blinked, tears rising up. It was the final act, the character was standing alone on stage. She hadn't understood a word of the show, but she did know what had happened. She knew she didn't want to be left alone in the end like the actor, pouring her soul into high notes until she overdosed into a dumpster.

The sudden applause startled her, and she began to clap her hands, wiping at her cheeks. Rachel stood with her, trying to catch her gaze.

"Did you enjoy the opera, dear?" Doris asked, smiling at the blonde.

Quinn nodded. "Oh, it was so good, I almost peed my pants."

The old woman stammered, taken aback. "What?"

Rachel leaned forward, covering. "She said she liked it better than Pirates of Penzance."

"Oh!" The woman said, assuming she had misheard the blonde.

"Yes," Rachel said, stifling a laugh, and took Quinn's arm in hers. "Good-bye now."

* * *

The brunette leaned back in her chair, surveying the chess game in front of them. Quinn was a quick learner. If she knew any better, Rachel would suspect she'd been hustled. It was as if the complex system of rules was a simple game of checkers for the blonde, and Rachel didn't like losing.

Quinn leaned forward, biting her thumb as she squinted at the board. Her father had been a big chess player, and taught her the game. It'd been a decade or so since she'd touched a set, or even given it a second glance, and she was rusty. To her father's standards, she should have already won by now. She glanced up at Rachel after moving a queen, to find her grinning.

"What?" Quinn asked, ruffling her hair nervously.

"You're playing quite well for a beginner," Rachel commented, quirking an eyebrow.

Quinn shrugged. "Guess it comes naturally."

Rachel just shook her head, chuckling. "Why don't we finish this tomorrow? It's really late, and I have to work."

"Why don't you not go to work tomorrow," Quinn said, getting up to stretch. "Take the day off."

"Me, not work?" Rachel stared at her in confusion.

The blonde snorted. "Yeah."

"I _am_ the boss," Rachel murmured, tilting her head.

Quinn smiled at her, moving to hug her from behind. "Come with me, Rach. I'll show you my city."

* * *

"Here are the storage reports you wanted, sir, and Ms. Berry called."

Finn held his hand out for the files, not bothering to look up. "What'd she say?"

The intern hesitated. "She said she's taking the day off."

"She's taking the day off?" Finn repeated, his head jerking upwards for confirmation.

"That's what she said," the intern affirmed, shrugging.

Finn cursed under his breath, shooing the intern. It figured, with only a few days left the bitch would leave him to do all the work, to fuck around with that damn hooker.

* * *

"I'm starving," Quinn commented, and looked around them. There were a few food carts on the street, and the park was just around the block. She pointed to one of the food stands. "There's a snap dog vendor over there. Do you have any money?"

"I have money," Rachel said, then laughed. "I don't know what a snap dog is, but I have money."

Quinn took her hand, pulling her in the direction of the cart. "Well, I'm gonna give, um—you'll buy a snap dog, and we'll cop a squat under a tree somewhere."

The brunette interlaced their fingers, and the blonde tried to ignore the flutter-feeling it caused. Rachel's nose scrunched up. "Cop a what?"

"Cop a squat," Quinn repeated, holding back a laugh when Rachel looked horrified at the suggestion. "Relax, there's a park nearby. It's nice. You'll like it."

Slightly dubious but holding her tongue, Rachel took out a few bills to pay the vendor, and Quinn accepted the snap dogs, pausing before she handed one over to the brunette. "Um, you're not a vegetarian or anything, are you?"

"I was a vegan for some time, but not anymore. Why?"

"Oh, good." Quinn said, relieved. "Cause these have a bunch of meat in them."

Rachel sniffed the food cautiously, watching the blonde munch on hers happily. She took a small bite, and was surprised when it didn't taste like grease and artificial by-products. The seasoning wasn't bland, either. It didn't quite live up to the exquisite recipes of the restaurants she frequented, but it was homey. It was comfortable.

She smiled at the blonde, giving her a thumbs up to show she approved of the food choice. Quinn grinned, skipping ahead into the grassy field to sit under a large tree. The brunette followed, taking her time, and sat down next to her, leaning back against the trunk.

When she finished with the snap dog, the blonde removed a small, leather-bound book from her bag. One arm wiggled behind Rachel's waist, coming around to hold the book in front of them. Rachel raised her eyebrow, amused.

Quinn huffed, rolling her eyes, but couldn't help smiling when Rachel leaned back into her. She flipped the pages to the first chapter, clearing her throat. "All right, read the first two pages."

If Rachel found the action strange at all, she didn't show it. "Okay," she said, and gently rested her hand on top of Quinn's arm, reading aloud. She didn't know what book it was, but fell into the story quickly enough, loving when it was Quinn's turn to read, because words had a knack of popping and rolling off her tongue and curling around her lips, with acrobatic fluidity.

The sun sank lower in the sky, and they finished the story late afternoon, as rush hour traffic picked up.

Rachel's driver had picked them up from the park, and they were on their way to the hotel for a late dinner. The brunette had managed to find a record store that sold classical music, and snatched up a few piano pieces. Quinn looked out the window, tired, as the pieces filled the car speakers.

Her streets passed them by, and it looked like a completely different world with tinted glass separating her from it, acting as a barricade. Would she be ready to go back when Rachel left?

The driver took a right turn onto a very familiar road, and Quinn sat up a little straighter, searching the block for Santana. She couldn't see the stars on the sideway from their viewpoint, and hummed in frustration when they passed the storefront that they used as their post, the Latina nowhere in sight.

It was early, she assured herself. Maybe Santana was still on her way. Or maybe she'd hooked a client already. Just because she hadn't tried to reach the blonde didn't mean that she was lying face up in a dumpster.

"Did you know that two of the Bach pieces that we heard tonight were found by Felix Mendelssohn in a butcher's shop?" Rachel asked, breaking through her thoughts. "They were wrapping meat with the sheet music."

Quinn nodded, looking down at her lap.

Rachel placed a hand over hers, which were playing with the hem of her blouse. "What's with you? You're fidgeting. What's wrong?"

The blonde cleared her throat. "Um, there's a club up here that I'd like to stop into for a second to see my roommate, if that's okay?"

"Absolutely," Rachel said, giving her hand a squeeze. "Darryl? Uhm, Darryl, can you just pull up into the back alleyway, please?"

"The Blue Banana?" He asked, and Rachel turned to Quinn for confirmation.

The blonde nodded. "The Blue Banana."

Rachel chuckled. "Very colorful life you lead."

The blonde rolled her eyes. "I just wanna run in for a minute and see if she's there, so just stay here." She stepped out of the door, stopping the brunette from following her. Rachel leaned back against the door, crossing her arms. "I'm hoping they don't spot this limousine as it is."

"I'll block it with my body," Rachel said, smirking.

Quinn shook her head, and walked into the back door.

"Hey, Q, you lookin' good, man. What'd you win, the lottery or what?" The fellow hooker looked her up and down, commenting on the new get-up.

The blonde ignored her question. "Hey, Tina, have you seen San?"

"No, not since, uh, Tuesday." Quinn nodded, making her way to the bartender. "Hey, Israel is looking for her too," Tina added.

She flexed her shoulders, trying to ease the worry seeping into them. Tapping the counter for the bartender's attention, she smiled at him when he saw her. "Hi, Pops. Have you seen Santana?"

He frowned. "I think she went to Santa Barbara."

Quinn exhaled, taking out a pen and scribbling a number onto a napkin. "Here's my number where I'm gonna be for the rest of the week. Have her call me, okay?"

"Okay, honey."

"Thanks."

He nodded, and returned to wiping glasses. Quinn wove her way through the crowd, letting out a silent prayer that Santana would call her soon. She had to be okay. She _would_ be okay.

But when she pushed open the metal door and stepped out into the alley, she saw a gang of men jeering at the limousine, forming a half circle that worked as a trap.

And in the middle of the crowd stood a tiny brunette, still calmly leaning against the car door.

Quinn frowned, raising her voice to break through the taunts. "What's going on out here?"

The catcalls and insults stopped, the men's attention fixing on the blonde immediately. Rachel shrugged, catching her gaze. "I don't know. You left and all of a sudden I'm in the middle of _West Side Story_."

* * *

**A/N: So there's probably only a couple chapters left… and since **haelthy **gave me the idea to faberry-up **_**Pretty Woman**_**, I'm gonna let them decide whether or not to add an epilogue.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything.**

**A/N: **haelthy **opted for an epilogue, so you guys get one!**

_Previously:_

_ Quinn frowned, raising her voice to break through the taunts. "What's going on out here?"_

_ Rachel shrugged, catching her gaze. "I don't know. You left and all of a sudden I'm in the middle of West Side Story."_

* * *

"I think you owe me some money, baby," Israel cooed, forgetting about Rachel and setting his sights on Quinn. The blonde narrowed her eyes from the stoop. "Two hundred bucks."

She pushed herself forward, knocking shoulders with the pimp before reaching Rachel's side. The crowd edged in. Quinn closed her hand around the brunette's wrist, silently pleading her to get in the car.

Israel took point, giving them a dirty smirk. "Now I hear you got yourself a new job?"

"Let's just leave," Quinn whispered, nudging Rachel. The brunette remained fixed in place, determined to stand her ground.

"You ain't goin' no place," the pimp continued, encouraged by cat calls and guffaws.

When Rachel took a bold step forward, a man from the crowd jumped out at her, eyes glazed over. "Hey, hey, hey—you're outta your neighborhood. This ain't no Hollywood!"

To her credit, the brunette didn't even flinch. She gestured at the man, looking at Quinn in disbelief. "I don't believe this. He has this knife coming out of his skateboard." She turned back to the guy, amused. "He's going to stab me. What, you gonna strangle me with a Slinky?"

Quinn swallowed thickly, not liking Rachel's sudden bravery. There was a reason the neighborhood was rough, and that reason was slowly closing in on them. The blonde opened the car door, staring at Rachel pointedly.

Rachel ignored her and held up her hands. "All right, okay, this is what's happening. You believe this person owes you two hundred dollars?"

Israel rolled his shoulders. "That's right."

"Why?"

"Because this is my block," he deadpanned.

The brunette looked back at Quinn. "His block?"

"He's a drug dealer. It has to do with San." The blonde rocked back on her heels. "Let's just go, Rachel."

"Raaa-chel," Israel mocked, gaining more laughs. "So how's it feel to be a trick?"

"I am not a trick." The brunette faltered, but seemed to push past it and nodded at the driver. "This is a trick. Darryl! Left pocket." The man slipped his hand into his jacket, withdrawing a pistol from his left hip, above the pocket. Rachel smirked as the crowd stiffened, a few backing off completely. "Isn't that incredible? And he does have a permit. Thank you, gentlemen."

She helped Quinn into the car and walked a few paces to Israel, standing toe to toe with him. Dropping her voice, she said lowly, "Don't you ever go near her again."

The pimp scoffed and stalked off to the back door, slamming it shut behind him. His lingering mates dispersed in the alleyway as Rachel climbed into the limousine, smiling at the blonde.

Quinn bit her lip, and glanced at the brunette. "Does Darryl always carry a gun?"

"When he drives me, yes, always," Rachel responded. Her brow creased when she noticed the blonde playing with her hemline. "What's wrong?"

"You shouldn't have done that," she said quietly.

"Done what?"

"Stood up to them like that."

"Darryl had a gun on him, we were safe the entire time," Rachel said, turning to face Quinn. "And they were insulting you."

"So? It's a food chain. You can't just say whatever you want to, you know. There are repercussions, street rules."

"But-"

"Look, there's a reason we let them act like they're wolves in a pen of pigs."

Rachel held her tongue, sensing there was more to the issue than she could understand.

Quinn looked out the window, wondering where her roommate was. She hoped to hell she wasn't out on the same streets as Israel.

* * *

Rachel watched from the couch as Quinn paced the room, sitting down only to jump back up or taking out glasses from the shelves just to clean them. She'd been offering to help the blonde for the past few hours, and received a grunt or inconclusive hum each time. She'd tried to distract her, but it only made Quinn antsier.

And she refused to talk about it. Rachel had a feeling it was about her missing roommate. Well, that, and whatever happened in the alleyway. She wasn't sure if the blonde was mad at her or at herself. She thought it was probably a mix of each, but couldn't bring herself to apologize to the woman. She hadn't done anything wrong. They were safe. They _had been_ safe. And she wouldn't say sorry for that.

Instead, she settled further into the couch, attempting to focus on the old Broadway tape playing on screen. It was one of her favorites. She had it memorized; each note, each gesture, each breath.

It was never hard to sink into the world of a stage.

But even with all her attention fixed on the TV, she was acutely aware of each step, each pause, each that sigh Quinn made, even if she wasn't in view. Especially when she wasn't in view.

It was getting ridiculous.

"Are you sure you don't want to sit?" Rachel tried one last time. All she wanted was to wrap her arms around the blonde, to keep her in place. Secure.

But Quinn only huffed and strode out onto the balcony again. The brunette closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and holding it, one, two, before exhaling. "Just let her be," she muttered to herself.

The blonde approached the cement railing, peering out over the Hills. A light night breeze ruffled her hair, and she swung her legs over the ledge, sitting on the thick wall. The lights twinkled below her like stars.

She wasn't sure why she couldn't stop. She just knew she couldn't sit still, whether it was next to Rachel on the sofa or at the kitchen counter. Even here, on the railing, she was rocking. Moving. She had to, because who knew what might happen if she stopped. She'd stopped for the past several days, and look at where she was—sitting out on a Penthouse patio, in designer clothes, waiting for her best friend to call her, with the most beautiful woman trying to console her just footsteps away.

She heard the brunette pad across the room and stop just outside the balcony doors. Quinn looked over her shoulder, watching the brunette rap her fingers on the glass as she bought time.

"Hey," Rachel said.

The blonde managed a small smile, and let her eyes wander down the brunette's frame. She had changed into a t-shirt and a pair of cotton shorts. The shortest yet. Her gaze snapped back up to meet Rachel's, who returned the smile with a chuckle.

"Uhm, I'm headed off to bed," she said, and worried her lip. "You should come soon…it's getting really late."

Quinn nodded. "I'll be there soon."

Rachel cleared her throat, looking down. "I'm, uh, sorry about earlier. I shouldn't have acted like that, even with Darryl's gun. I just, I didn't like the way they were talking to you."

"You get that I'm a hooker, right?" Quinn quirked her eyebrow. "I've heard worse."

"But you shouldn't have to," Rachel said softly.

"Rachel-"

"I'm sorry," the brunette said, backing away. "Er, goodnight."

Quinn sighed. "G'night."

When Rachel had disappeared into the next room, the blonde stared out at the city again. She extended a hand, tracing the streets she knew Santana frequented. After rounding a few blocks, she followed the road over to the alleyway they'd been in. It looked so much lighter now.

Santana would call her. They were survivors. They took care of themselves.

The call would come when it came.

When Quinn finally hopped off the ledge an hour later, she tiptoed into the bedroom to a closed-eyed brunette, whose glasses were slipping down the bridge of her nose. Paperwork still sat in her lap, incomplete. The soft snore only made her more endearing, and Quinn nearly kicked herself in the ass for ignoring her earlier.

The blonde leaned on the doorway frame, a smile playing out on her lips. She pushed off it, lightly sitting on the edge of the bed to remove Rachel's glasses and put the papers on the bedside table. Quinn searched the brunette's face for any signs of consciousness. Finding none, she dropped her voice and murmured, "She sleeps."

The brunette scrunched her nose, shifting further into the pillows. Quinn chuckled at the sleeping woman's movements, and leaned further on the bed, placing a hand on the other side of Rachel to steady herself. A breathy sound escaped the brunette's mouth, and it was then that Quinn noticed how close they were. Lifting her other hand, she reached out, hesitantly, before gently cupping Rachel's cheek in her hand. Quinn pressed a light kiss to her other cheek, a second to her temple. She pulled back enough to assess the brunette's state. Seeing no signs of awareness, she slid her hand to Rachel's chin. Her gaze flicked down to the woman's lips. She swallowed, letting her eyes close as she broke the only rule she'd ever set down.

The kiss lasted for three seconds.

In the first moment, Quinn's mind short-circuited as the connection registered. The brunette's lips were motionless against hers, but still somehow firm.

The second _Mississippi_ shocked the blonde back, as Rachel's lips parted with a sudden gasp. Her eyes fluttered open, but neither seemed to fully move away.

Brushing lips melded together in the final beat, and Quinn's system went into overdrive. She realized what she was doing, and recognized the consequences that would surely follow, but couldn't tear away. The soft movements were exactly what she had been wanting, ever since she had gotten into that Lotus.

Rachel pushed lightly against the blonde's chest, forcing her to withdraw. Quinn tried to keep focused on the brunette's eyes, but her gaze was constantly dropping to the lips that had felt so good against hers. She was aware of the brunette talking, but the words didn't make sense.

When she saw the corners of Rachel's mouth turn up, she launched forward, engaging into a rougher, longer kiss. Rachel didn't stop them this time, and ran her hands from the blonde's shoulders to rest at the underside of her thighs. Quinn shivered when Rachel gave a small squeeze, tugging her further onto her lap. The blonde's hands roamed underneath Rachel's t-shirt, brushing the underside of her breast. When the brunette's breath hitched, Quinn grinned and slipped her tongue into her mouth.

Their tongues slid against each other, exploring the uncharted territory. Quinn broke away to take a quick breath, and Rachel, impatient, huffed and flipped them, so that she was straddling the blonde.

Quinn's eyes widened slightly, before crinkling in laughter. Rachel smirked and bent down to capture her lips again. The blonde tore off the t-shirt and wiggled out of her own. She played with the hem of Rachel's shorts, tracing circles on the brunette's abdomen, which fell lower each time. Rachel groaned, opting to focus her attention on Quinn's throat. If this was going to be a competition, there was no way she was going down without a fight.

She placed a couple of open-mouthed kisses in the crook of the blonde's neck, grinning when she felt the muscles tighten. The blonde arched her neck to allow greater access. Rachel found a pulse point and scraped her teeth against it, sucking lightly.

The blonde's circles stopped abruptly, hands moving to grip Rachel's hips instead. Quinn stifled a moan and felt the brunette's smile against her throat. She huffed, wondering how exactly she had lost control.

But as Rachel's mouth traveled lower, lips running across her chest like the lines to a treasure map, she knew she didn't need it.

For the first time in her life, she could let go.

When Rachel's mouth closed around her breast, she arched her back off the mattress to gain more pressure. In a response that surprised them both, Rachel's hips bucked back, starting the agonizing dance that their bodies fell into.

It was all peaks and valleys, sighs and cries.

And after she'd lost control (many times) and they'd finished (many times), she let Rachel snuggle up behind her. An arm curled around her side to rest on her stomach. She'd expected it to feel weird, being the little spoon. Instead, it filled a hole she didn't know she had.

Surrounded by the warmth and sweet smell of something purely Rachel, she felt herself drifting off. The brunette noticed her slowed breathing, and barely caught the hushed words that fell from her lips. "I love you."

* * *

_They hadn't shut the curtains, _Quinn thought, as she blinked awake.

The sunlight trickled in through the windowpane, a square falling directly onto her face. Quinn squinted and tried to move her head in a position that wouldn't make her blind. Giving up, she rolled over and bumped into a body that released a warm chuckle when she curled up against it.

"Good morning," Rachel said.

Quinn peeked up at her, seeing bright eyes. There was no residue of sleep in the brunette's features. The blonde rubbed her eyes. "How long have you been up?"

Rachel shrugged. "Not long."

"What were you thinking about all this time?" Quinn asked, closing her eyes when a hand threaded its way into her hair.

"The fact that this will be our last day together, and you'll finally be rid of me."

The blonde sighed, smirking. "Well, you've been pretty tough to take."

Rachel snorted. "My business is almost over, so I'll be going back to New York." She paused, withdrawing her hand from the tangled locks. "I'd really like to see you again."

"You would?" Quinn opened one eye to catch Rachel's smile.

"Yes." She cleared her throat. "Yes, I would, so I've arranged for you to have an apartment, to have a car…a wide variety of stores guaranteed to suck up to you anytime you want to go shopping." She took the blonde's hand, her thumb rubbing circles against it. "Everything's done."

Quinn was quiet for a beat, and Rachel watched her anxiously. The blonde sat up, pushing away from her. When she spoke, her gaze was fixed on the bed. "What else? You gonna leave some money by the bed when you pass through town?"

Rachel frowned, scooting closer. "Quinn, it really wouldn't be like that."

"How would it be?" The blonde's steeled gaze met hers.

"Well, for one thing, it would get you off the streets."

"That's just geography."

Rachel hesitated. "Quinn, what is it you want? What do you see happening between us?"

"I don't know," Quinn said, brow crinkling in thought. "When I was a little girl, my mama used to lock me in the attic when I was bad, which was pretty often. And I would—I would pretend I was a princess...trapped in a tower by a wicked queen. And then suddenly this knight," her gaze flicked back to the brunette, "on a white horse with these colors flying would come charging up and draw his sword. And I would wave. And he would climb up the tower and rescue me." A sad smile formed on her face.

"But never in all the time that I had this dream did the knight say to me,_ Come on, baby, I'll put you up in a great condo._"

Rachel bit her lip, opening her mouth to respond when a phone interrupted her. She looked at Quinn pleadingly. The blonde waved her hand. "Oh, just answer it."

The brunette paused, but got up to take the call.

Quinn slumped back against the headboard, knocking her head on it a few times in frustration. "Stupid, stupid…" she muttered, covering her face with her hands.

Of all the rules she could have thrown out the window, it _had_ to be the biggest one. And now, she was being offered the next best thing. An apartment. Money. In return for a fucked up relationship of biannual flings and screws.

The floorboard by the door squeaked, and she looked up to see Rachel leaning against it, avoiding her gaze. "I, uhm, have to go now, but I want you to understand...I heard everything you said." She shuffled further into the room and sat on the end of the bed. "This is all I'm capable of right now. It's a very big step for me."

The blonde exhaled. "I know. It's a really good offer for a girl like me."

"I've never treated you like a prostitute," Rachel said quietly, and got up to take a shower.

Quinn waited until the water was running to get changed. "You just did."

* * *

**A/N: I'm awful at smut, so I hope that kiss scene wasn't a complete disaster. Thanks for the reviews & favorites! (: **


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Thanks for all the reviews! (: Your kind words are coming at a good time & mean a lot. **

**Er, the end of this chapter gets kinda graphic (the rape scene). Just a forewarning!**

_Previously:_

_ The blonde exhaled. "I know. It's a really good offer for a girl like me."_

_ "I've never treated you like a prostitute," Rachel said quietly, and got up to take a shower._

_ Quinn waited until the water was running to get changed. "You just did."_

* * *

Quinn heard the phone ring from the balcony and leapt off the ledge, skidding on the kitchen tile to reach it. On its fourth ring she hesitated, hand hovering above. Rachel had said not to answer it. But what if it was important?

Cursing under her breath she yanked the telephone from its cradle and pressed it against her ear. "Hello?"

"It's Kurt Hummel here, Miss Fabray." He paused, and she could hear a lot of noise carry across the line. "Could you come down to the front desk? There's someone here who wants to speak to you."

Quinn's brow furrowed.

"She says her name is Miss Lopez-"

"Let me talk to her," Quinn rushed out, heart bursting at the name. "Let me-let me just talk to her."

She heard a sigh and then rustling.

"Ey Q. Would you come down here? The sphincter police won't let me through." Santana shot Kurt an annoyed look, who reflected it back at her. He'd have had her thrown out before she set foot in the lobby if Quinn hadn't crept on his good side.

He saw the Latina nod. When she extended the phone he took it. "Okay. She's on her way."

Kurt sighed, hoping they'd both be gone soon. "Fine." He handed her the envelope of cash, and she tucked it into her bra.

They stared each other down, Kurt expecting her to walk away and Santana expecting him to leave her in peace. She was just here to get the money her girl had promised her and go, but of course the pig had to call for permission and extend the whole ordeal.

"Mr. Hummel?" A man appeared at the manager's side, looking between the two.

"Yes?" Kurt answered without breaking the glare.

"The window washer is refusing to come down."

He groaned, muttering under his breath about Saturdays and damn unions. He held a hand up, gesturing to Santana. "Wait here, please."

The Latina shrugged, tapping her fingers against the linoleum countertop.

The manager turned to the receptionist. "Watch her."

Santana rolled her eyes as the woman behind the desk nodded. "Yes, sir."

A man crossing the lobby caught sight of the Latina and nudged his wife, who pulled him closer to her. His eyes unconsciously wandered, drawing in all of the hooker's curves. When he reached her eyesight again, he was faced with a sultry smirk that stopped him in his tracks.

Santana leaned back against the counter, pretending to inspect her nails. Calling out loudly to the man, she said, "Fifty bucks, Grandpa."

The man's mouth dropped open, and his wife's eyes narrowed. Santana held up her hands, eyebrows raising in amusement. "For a hundred the wife can watch."

The offended couple stalked off towards the elevator, the doors sliding open just in time to whisk them away. Quinn stepped out into the lobby, glancing over her shoulder at the husband and wife that almost knocked her over in their rush to escape. She followed the man's line of sight to see Santana, leaning back and surveying the hotel entrance with a hardened stare and tight jaw. The blonde flashed back to her first night at the place, at the embarrassment endured as she waited for the brunette to check in. She should have just had Kurt send Santana up.

She paused a few feet away, watching as the Latina straightened up. "I've been calling you."

Santana's gaze dropped. "Yeah, I know. They told me at the Banana you were lookin' for me."

"You were supposed to come by Tuesday." Quinn crossed her arms. "I left the money at the desk."

"I was dodging that ass Israel," Santana said defensively.

"Well, if you picked up the money, you wouldn't have to hide," Quinn said pointedly.

"I was busy. I had a life," Santana said, and paused, gaze flicking back up to meet Quinn's. "Nino got beat up." The blonde's eyes widened. "We had to visit him in the hospital, Tina got arrested. It was a mess."

Quinn frowned, and nodded for the Latina to follow her outside. She'd missed that much in a _week_? And here she had thought her biggest problem was deciding whether or not to kiss a certain brunette. At least San had made it through another week.

Another week, another day. Another month, another year. Achievements on the street came in time increments.

They walked a few blocks in silence, before Santana spoke up again.

"Anyway, I got the money. Thank you very much for saving my ass. Now Israel can get off of it." Santana glanced over at her friend. "You know, he was talking about you last night.

He would bust something if he saw you in this outfit."

Quinn huffed and rolled her eyes, subconsciously tugging at the hem of the striped shirt. "It's just clothes."

Santana bumped their shoulders, snorting. "I was afraid to hug you up there. I might wrinkle you!"

The blonde slowed to a stop, and the Latina walked a few paces before realizing it. When she turned, Quinn's gaze was fixed on the ground, fists bunched up in her pockets. "Q?"

The blonde exhaled, feeling her nostrils flare a little. She forced herself to meet her roommate's stare. "I thought you'd become another chalk outline."

Santana took a small step closer. "Hey, come on."

Quinn threw her hands up. "I don't understand why you couldn't return the call! It's a simple task. Even _you_ can figure it out."

"Q, would you-"

"I was worried, okay?" Her arms hung limp at her sides. "I didn't like it."

Santana gave her a small smile, speaking up after a beat. "Look, Q, I've been turning tricks much longer than you have. I know how to roll away from the punches." She reached out, placing a light hand on the blonde's arm. "How'd you think I felt when you first started? You were like a little sister to me."

Quinn hummed, shrugging.

"But, you know. We take care of each other."

"Yeah, I guess." The blonde shook her head to clear it. "Sorry, for uhm, getting all irrational."

Santana rolled her eyes. "Yeah, no problem. But you owe me an ice cream." Quinn laughed, and stepped into line at a cart close by. The Latina followed her lead, and took one of the cones out of her hand when she handed over the cash.

She turned to the blonde, muttering, "You look really good." She shook her head when Quinn went to sit on a bench. "No, something in the shade."

"Over there?" Quinn pointed to an awning.

Santana nodded, licking the ice cream. "You clean up real nice. You sure don't fit in down on the Boulevard lookin' like you do, not that you ever did."

Quinn laughed. "Well, thanks, but it's easy to clean up when you got money."

"Yeah." The Latina hummed her agreement, staring down passersby. She cleared her throat. "So, when does she leave?"

Quinn hesitated. "Tomorrow."

"You get to keep the clothes?"

"Yeah," she said, and paused. "Rachel asked me if I wanted to see her again. But I think, I think definitely no. It's just another week, right?"

Santana titled her head, taking in the woman beside her. "Definitely no?" She repeated.

Quinn focused on her cone. "Yeah."

"Oh, no."

"What?" Quinn asked, gaze flying up to her roommate's narrowed eyes.

"I know this weepy look on your face," She said, gesturing with her free hand.

The blonde frowned. "Oh, no, you don't!"

"You fell in love with her."

"No!" Quinn protested, but her voice fell flat. "S, please. Stop it."

"You've fallen in love with her?" San asked incredulously.

"Santana!"

The Latina looked back out at the street. "Did you kiss her? On the mouth?"

Quinn hesitated. "Uh, yeah, I did."

"You kissed her on the mouth?"

"I did," the blonde confirmed, trying to shrug it off. "It was nice."

Santana snorted. "You fall in love with her, and you kiss her on the mouth. Did I not teach you anything?"

The blonde huffed. "Look, I'm not stupid, okay? I-I'm not in love with her."

The Latina quirked an eyebrow.

"I just—I like her," Quinn conceded.

"You like her?"

"Yeah."

"You definitely like her," Santana mocked. She finished off the ice cream cone, crunching a bit before continuing. "Well, she's not a bum. She's a rich, classy chick."

Quinn chuckled humorlessly. "Who's gonna break my heart, right?"

"Oh, no. Come on. You don't know that." Santana glanced at her friend, knowing her feelings were a lot stronger than she'd admit. She wanted to go hammer in this chick's face right about now, making her girl feel this way. "Hey, she asked you, right? Maybe you guys could, like, um, you know, get a house together. Like, buy some diamonds and a horse. I don't know." She shrugged. "Anyway, it could work. It happens."

"When does it happen, San?" Quinn snorted, walking back down the street. "When does it really happen? Who does it really work out for? Did it work out for Skinny Marie or Tina? No!"

Santana sighed. "Those were very specific cases of crackheads."

"I just wanna know who it works out for," Quinn snapped. "You give me one example of somebody that we know that it happened for."

"Name someone?"

"Yeah, one person that it worked out for."

Santana caught Quinn's arm, forcing her to slow down. "You want me to give you a name or something."

"Yeah."

"Oh, God, the pressure of a name," Santana said, rolling her head back. She popped it back up after a moment of thought, smirking. "Cinder-fuckin'-rella."

Quinn sighed, brushing past her on the sidewalk.

"Oh, come on, Q!"

* * *

Finn stepped in front of the brunette, opening the door for her. He shut it behind them, smiling at the conference table filled with Schuster's people. At the head sat Will, to his right, David. Both their eyes were centered on the little star.

Rachel glanced over her shoulder, ignoring Finn's encouraging nod. She took a step towards the table and clasped her hands. She took a deep breath. "Gentlemen, I'd like to speak to Mr. Schuster alone."

The men looked towards their boss, for a direct order. The older man leaned back in his chair, head cocking to the side in curiosity. After a moment, he nodded. "All right, gentlemen, you heard her. Please wait outside."

"Thank you," the brunette said. She felt Finn move closer behind her, and turned to address him. "You too, Finn."

He chuckled nervously. "What do you mean?"

Rachel's eyebrows rose in annoyance. "I mean I would like to speak to Mr. Schuster alone."

"Why does he get to stay?" Finn protested.

"Please," Rachel said, narrowing her gaze.

He hesitated, then jerked a thumb towards the door. "I'll be right outside."

Rachel nodded. "Good."

Finally left alone, Rachel smiled at the man. "Is that better?"

"It's all right," he said, winking. They'd discussed a private meeting earlier, without all the politics, but knew they wouldn't be able to shake off their hounds beforehand.

"Would you like a cup of coffee?"

Will nodded. "Black."

Rachel poured a cup and set it in front of him, taking David's empty chair. "Mr. Schuster, my interests in your mission have changed."

"What is it you're after now, ?"

"Well, I no longer wish to half-ass this project. If you plan on returning Hollywood to its previous glamour, I'll help you gain a standing. I still believe in getting David an education on film, directing, acting, and the likes. He'll be furthering the legacy you both leave, and it'll come in handy."

She paused. "Hollywood has lost its art. And I think your visions can bring it back. I want to help you."

He glanced at her. "Why?"

"Mr. Schuster, I think we can do something very special with your knowledge, funding, and drive. It's obviously something that means a lot to both of you, and I've just started dreaming again. I'll bring all my contacts, connections, and sponsors aboard with your ideals."

Will shook his head, smiling. "I find this hard to say without sounding condescending, but... I'm proud of you."

"Thank you," Rachel said, patting his hand. She looked over at the door. "I think we can let in the other suits now."

He nodded, and she got up to open the door. "Let's continue the meeting. Come in, gentlemen. Sit down."

Finn lunged at her. "Rachel, please, what was this all about? Hmm?"

"It's all yours, Finn," she said, smiling sweetly. "Finish it up."

He raced towards the papers on the desk, grabbing them. "Hold it. Hold it. These aren't signed!"

Rachel shut the door behind her, smirking as Finn's frantic shouts carried through the wall. "These aren't signed! Could someone please tell me what the fuck is going on here?"

She stepped out into the street, pausing. A breeze swept her hair to the side. She closed her eyes against the sun, and addressed Darryl. "You know, I think I'm gonna go for a walk. Just stay here for a while. I'll be back."

"Yes, Ms. Berry."

* * *

The doorbell chimed, and Quinn hopped off the couch, bounding over.

Drawing back the door, she stood face to face with none other than Finn Hudson, the sleazy, overly-large lawyer. Seriously, he barely fit through the doorway, but he pushed her aside anyway, ignoring her protest. She caught a light whiff of alcohol on him and scrunched her nose.

"Well, well. Hello again." He gave her a crooked smile. "I'm looking for Rachel."

Quinn stood at the door, confused. "Rachel's not here. I thought she was with you."

"No. Uh, Rachel is definitely not with me." He chuckled. "No, if Rachel were with me—When. Actually, when... Rachel was with me, she didn't blow off millions of dollars in sponsor money!" He moved into the kitchen, taking out a glass. "I think that, uh, Rachel's with you. That's what I think."

Quinn frowned and moved to sit on the sofa. What was Finnept babbling about? What had Rachel done?

"Mind if I have a drink?"

Quinn shook her head absentmindedly. "No."

He lumbered over, offering her a glass.

She smiled politely at him. "No, thank you."

He shrugged, and knocked it back. "Well, I'll just wait."

Noticing his close proximity, the blonde shifted. "Uh, Rachel will be back soon. Any minute, she'll be home."

Finn sat down next to her, chuckling. "You know, this is not home. This is, uh, a hotel room. And, uh, you are not... the little woman." He snickered, and laid a clammy, large paw on her upper thigh. He leaned closer. "You're a hooker. Maybe you're a very good hooker, you know?"

He gulped down the other glass, and the blonde sat straight, frozen in place. He wrapped the other arm behind her, weighing down her shoulders. "Maybe if I _do _you, then I wouldn't care about losing millions of dollars. Because I have to be very honest with you."

Finn inched his hand higher up. "Right now, Quinn, right now I really do care. I really do. And right now I am really pissed, you know? Right now I am just freaking out. So maybe if I screw you, huh, and take you to the opera, then I could be a happy guy, just like Rachel."

Reaching her belt, he pulled at it. It was just the movement needed to yank Quinn from her shock, and she shoved at him, jumping up.

He tugged her back down, but she rolled off the couch; Finn followed her, pinning her against the ground. She squirmed under his weight, breath coming in quick gasps. "Hey, get off me!"

"Hey, hey!" Finn grunted, ripping off his own belt. "Goddamn it!"

She yelped as he knelt on her leg by accident. "Ow!"

He swore and shifted his weight so he straddled her lower body, pants unbuttoned. "Come on! Come on! I'll pay for it."

"Get off me!" she shrieked, eyes widening and vision blurring when he managed to tug down her pants a little.

"How much is it? Twenty bucks, thirty bucks?"

His smirk etched firmly in her mind, haunting her even as she screwed her eyes shut. "Get off me! Get off me!"

He seemed to be everywhere, invading every sense. She could certainly _feel_ him, his heat and his clammy hands and hardening dick. She could smell the alcohol rolling off him in waves. She could _see _him and his intentions, though she wished she'd seen them earlier. She could hear his panting, his gruff voice. She could taste the fear he caused.

"Fifty? You an expensive whore, Quinn?" He taunted, further settling on her. His breath splayed out across her face, and her throat ran dry. It was happening.

_It was happening, it was happening._

"What are you doing?" A distant voice screamed. "Get off!"

_It was happening, it was happening._ _It was happening._

"Oh, come on!"

_ It w-was happening._

"Stop. I don't want to hurt you!" The voice was clearer now, closer. "Stop it!"

"You already did, Rachel!"

_It was happening, it was happ-happening._

"Out. Out of here."

_ It was happening, i-it was happening._

She heard Finn cry out in pain and the weight crushing her was suddenly gone, as if it had vaporized. The blonde clutched at her chest, feeling as if it was too tight, much too tight. The skin over her heart was bound too tight, stretching as the stressed organ pounded against it.

"All right, all right. Look, she's a whore, Berry. She's a goddamn—_Aagh_! Damn."

"Out!"

"_Shit_, I think you broke my nose."

"Get outta here," the voice growled. She could make out a small silhouette hovering above her. The pressure in her chest lessened slightly to a harsh cramp, and her lungs drew in labored, panicked breaths.

"What is wrong with you? Come on, Rachel! I gave you ten years!" He whined. "I devoted my whole life to you!"

"That's bullshit! This is such bullshit! It's the kill you love, not me!" The tiny person huffed. "I made you a very rich man doing exactly what you loved." Something slammed against the far wall, causing the blonde to flinch. "Now get out of here! _Get out!_"

The words echoed in her mind, her vision clouding over.

_Get out, get out_. _It's happening._

* * *

**A/N: Sorry to end there _**

**Also—what do you guys want to see in an epilogue?**


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything.**

**A/N: I'd just like to take a moment to acknowledge/respect Cory Monteith's death, especially because his Glee character is so often slammed and hated in the Faberry sphere. He was an ally for equality, a heroic fighter, a successful actor (and it's not his fault he got stuck with a crappy character on Glee :p). Rest in peace, buddy. The struggle's over.**

_Previously_:

_"That's bullshit! This is such bullshit! It's the kill you love, not me!" The tiny person huffed. "I made you a very rich man doing exactly what you loved." Something slammed against the far wall, causing the blonde to flinch. "Now get out of here! _Get out_!"_

_ The words echoed in her mind, her vision clouding over._

_ Get out, get out. It's happening._

* * *

Rachel pressed a towel rolled with ice cubes onto Quinn's forehead, biting the inside of her cheek when the blonde hissed out in pain.

After she had locked Finn out of the room, using both bolts—that guy could knock down the door if he wanted to—Rachel grabbed the phone and dialed the front desk, alerting the manager to the situation. From the barking orders that she heard before the dial-tone, it looked like Mr. Hummel had immediately sicced the hotel's security on him.

She had dropped the phone clumsily, finally noticing her shaking hands. After taking a few deep breaths that seemed to calm her nerves a little, she had glanced around the room, looking for a missing blonde.

_Q-Quinn? Quinn!_ She'd called frantically, running into the bedroom, then the bathroom, then the balcony. She had even peeked over the ledge, just to make sure.

But when she had jogged back into the living room, she'd seen a shadow lying alongside the couch, curled on its side. She had stepped closer, and the body flinched, tucking its arm further around its stomach. Her eyes had been open wide, in shock, chest rising and falling quickly as her lungs took in shallow breaths.

_Oh, Quinn…_ She had murmured, kneeling beside her carefully. The blonde, after a moment, had untangled herself from the leg of the chair and tucked her head onto the brunette's lap, eyes flickering shut. Rachel eased a hand into the hair at the nape of her neck, rubbing soothing circles on the blonde's back with her free hand.

Rachel had lost track of how long they sat there, but she counted ten phone calls. She had ignored them, focused instead on the worn woman on top of her. She'd get up when Quinn was able to unfurl herself.

And, eventually, the time had come. Quinn had poked up her head, blinking owlishly as the past events returned to her mind. She had shuddered, pressed herself closer to the brunette, shook the tension out of her shoulders. After they'd eaten a little food—leftovers from the other night, as Rachel hadn't wanted to stress the blonde with a stranger bringing room service—the brunette had convinced Quinn to lie down on the bed so that she could look at her cuts and bruises.

She moved the makeshift ice pack down, shifting it so it covered the blonde's purple cheek. Quinn screwed her eyes shut. She clenched her jaw and exhaled. "Why do guys always know how to hit a woman right across the cheek?" She searched for Rachel's gaze for an anchor. "_Wham!_ And it feels like your eye is gonna explode."

Rachel shrugged, concern evident in her brown eyes.

Quinn continued. "What do they do? Do they pull guys aside in high school and show them how to do this? Is that—_ow_."

"Sorry," Rachel murmured, and lightened the pressure. "Not all guys hit."

Quinn searched her face. "I heard about what you did with Schuster."

The brunette frowned. "That was a business decision."

"It was good," Quinn pushed.

"It felt good." Rachel let the blonde pull her hand down.

They sat in silence for a moment, and Quinn could see the guilt weighing down on the brunette's shoulders. She rubbed her thumb along the woman's palm lines. She released her after a beat, sitting up. "I think this is okay."

"But you're not even bandaged-"

"I gotta get going," Quinn said. She swung her legs over the side of the bed. "It'll be fine."

"Yes, I noticed you'd packed." Rachel dropped her eyes. "Why are you leaving now?"

"Well, I had packed before…you know."

"Oh," she replied. "But why?"

"Rachel," she said, waiting until the brunette looked up at her, "there'll always be some guy, even some friend of yours, thinking he can treat me like Hudson, thinking that it's allowed." She smiled sadly at Rachel. "What are you going do? You gonna beat up everybody?"

The brunette bit her lip. "That's not why you're leaving."

"Look, you made me a really nice offer," Quinn said, standing up. "And a few months ago, no problem. But now everything is different, and you've changed that. And you can't change back." She shrugged. "I want more."

"I know about wanting more," Rachel said, standing. She stepped closer. "I invented the concept. The question is how much more."

Quinn crossed her arms. "I want the fairy tale. Impossible relationships."

Rachel chuckled. "My special gift is impossible relationships."

Quinn cracked a smile. Rachel walked with her to the door, and Quinn took her bag from her, pausing. "Thank you."

The brunette nodded, leaning against the doorway. "You're welcome. If you ever need anything—dental floss, whatever—you give me a call."

Rachel grinned as Quinn let out a light laugh, remembering the strawberry seed fiasco. God, that night seemed like so long ago.

"I had a good time." She rocked back on her heels, finding it hard to go, now that the time had actually come.

"Me too." Rachel gave her a half smile. "Do you want me to get you a bellhop?"

"No, I got it," Quinn said. "Thanks."

She walked over to the elevator door, and punched in the button.

"Stay," Rachel spoke up, after a second. She padded over to the blonde. "Stay the night with me. And not because I'm paying you, but because you want to."

Quinn kept her gaze fixed on the shiny metal and shook her head. "I can't."

Rachel's shoulders dropped a little as she sighed. She walked back a few steps, not quite leaving. The elevator doors pinged, giving them both a start.

"Good-bye," the blonde said, sparing Rachel one last glance.

The brunette watched her disappear, and muttered aloud the words her tongue had been brimming with. "You, Quinn Fabray, are so much more than you think."

* * *

"I want you to call maintenance and have them deal with this. You must delegate authority," Mr. Hummel said, reprimanding an employee. Quinn strode off the elevator, pausing behind him.

"Yes, sir," the employee stuttered. When the manager shooed him, Quinn tapped the man's shoulder.

"Hi, Kurt." She smiled at him, outstretching her arms.

"Miss Fabray," Kurt said, chuckling. He stepped into the embrace, clearing his throat when he pulled away.

She bounced on her toes anxiously. "I wanted to say good-bye."

Kurt frowned slightly. "Well, then, I gather you're not accompanying Ms. Berry to New York."

Quinn rolled her eyes in jest. "Come on, Kurt. You and me live in the real world... most of the time."

He nodded sadly, glancing out at the door. "Have you arranged for transportation?"

"I'm gonna call a cab," the blonde said, and began to walk across the lobby.

Kurt stopped her. "Allow me."

She furrowed her brow.

"Darryl."

The driver from the limo stood, folding a newspaper under his arm. "Yes, sir?"

Kurt rested a hand on Quinn's shoulder. "Please take Miss Fabray anywhere she wishes to go."

The man smiled, tipping his hat. "Yes, sir."

The driver went out to pull a car around, and Quinn followed with Kurt slowly. "It's been a pleasure knowing you. Come and visit us again sometime."

Quinn smiled, knowing the impossibility of ever stepping foot inside the plaza again. Instead, she nudged the kind manager. "Stay cool."

Kurt's eyes crinkled in amusement as he watched her go. He needed more guests like the blonde. She was refreshing.

* * *

Rachel leaned back against the wall of the balcony. She looked up at the sky, letting her eyes fall shut against the early morning sunlight.

Quinn would love this, if she were here.

They never were able to get up early enough to catch the sunrise, but the sun, peeking up over the skyscrapers and sprawling streets—it was every bit as glorious as watching it from a mountain top.

Of course, the blonde wouldn't be far this far back. She'd be pressed against the railing, _leaning_ over it. She'd breathe in the dewy air. Make a comment about how each morning is a _dew_ over, and smile at her own pun. Then say something more serious.

It was true, though. Mornings were light, pure. They weren't heavy like night; they didn't fall. They rose. Like a seedling in a spring breeze.

She'd say something like that.

If Rachel was more of a morning person, she might even consider having a sunrise wedding. It made more sense than a sunset wedding, didn't it? Although, then the drinking would start at nine in the morning. But, it _was_ a celebration, wasn't it?

She took a few small steps closer to the edge, just barely peering over it. The ground swayed beneath her as she glimpsed the dizzying view.

"Is that everything, miss?"

The voice caused her to jump, and she skittered back inside. The bellhop stood by the door, holding a suitcase.

Rachel glanced around the room, inhaling the familiar smells. "Yes. Yes, that's everything."

He nodded. "I'll meet you downstairs, ma'am."

"Thank you."

She glanced around the empty, clean space once more before following him out and locking the door behind her. It was no use sulking behind in that room.

* * *

Santana looked down at herself in the cocktail dress. Quinn tilted her head, assessing the fit. It was almost perfect. Where it had been loose on her, it hugged the Latina's curves.

She nodded her approval, and Santana made an exaggerated twirl. "I look like a fucking princess."

Quinn rolled her eyes, chuckling. She turned back to the bag she was packing.

Santana shimmied out of the gown, slipping on some tights and a skimpy shirt. "San Francisco's not that great, you know." She moved to lean on the wall beside her roommate. "It's bad climate. It's foggy. It's unpredictable."

The blonde glanced up, amused. "I'll wear a sweater."

"What are you even gonna do there?"

"Get a job. Finish high school." Quinn shrugged, folding another few shirts away. "I got things I can do. I used to make pretty good grades in high school."

The Latina hummed. "Yeah, I could see that about you. I could see that."

Quinn glanced over at her. "Sure you won't come with me?"

Santana snorted. "And leave all this? Not in a million."

The blonde laughed, and dug into her purse. "Come here."

"Whoa," Santana said, looking over her shoulder to see a wad of cash. "Whoa. What is that?"

"It's part of the Rachel Berry scholarship fund." Quinn handed it over, smiling softly. "We think you got a lot of potential, Santana Lopez."

The Latina shook her head. "You do? You think I got potential?"

"Oh, yeah," Quinn said, proudly. "Don't let anybody tell you different, okay?"

"Okay." Santana nodded a few times, and tucked the cash away in the room. When she came back, Quinn was holding out her black beret.

The Latina shook her head, putting up her hands. "No, I can't, I can't. It's your favorite." The blonde shrugged, tossing it into her travel bag. "What time's your bus?"

"An hour."

Santana shifted. "Yeah, well, I gotta split, 'cause good-byes make me crazy and sappy and shit." She lunged into a bear hug, surprising Quinn. "So, take care of you."

"Whoa," Quinn said, returning the tight hug. She chuckled. "Take care of you, S."

* * *

Rachel paused at the front desk, signing the bills and returning her room key. She glanced up at the manager. "You don't have any messages for me, do you?"

He glanced down at the computer. "No, I'm afraid not, miss."

The brunette sighed. "I'll need a car to the airport also."

"Of course. Darryl will take you wherever you need to go." He lifted the phone. "Darryl, the limousine out front, please? Thank you, Darryl."

Rachel cleared her throat. "One last thing. If you could possibly..."

"Yes?"

"…return this to Fred's for me, please?" She pulled out a black velvet box.

"Yes, of course." He took the box, hesitating. "May I, miss?"

Rachel smiled shyly. "Of course, please."

Kurt opened it, eyes widening at the diamond and ruby necklace that rested inside. He'd had rich guests before, jewels weren't rare to him. But there hadn't been a necklace quite like this for a few years, at least. He closed the lid.

The manager watched Rachel tap the counter. "It must be difficult to let go of something so beautiful."

Rachel nodded absentmindedly.

"You know, Darryl also drove Miss Fabray home yesterday."

The brunette's head snapped in his direction, brow furrowing.

Kurt tapped the box, placing it under the desktop. "I'll take care of it."

"Thank you, Mr. Hummel," Rachel said, looking at him questioningly as she walked out to Darryl's car.

She settled into the back seat, resting her arm on the window.

Darryl put down the glass barrier. "Your plane is leaving as scheduled, miss, and you should be back in New York on time."

Rachel nodded, sighing. She had never thought she'd be disappointed to hear those words before.

But she couldn't help it. She didn't even like Hollywood that much, yet ever since she'd picked up the blonde she had prolonged her stint, even agreeing to help a sponsor and his son clean the business up.

Her home was Broadway.

Her home was Times Square at night, all lit up, not Beverly Hills at sunrise.

But all she longed to see was a certain blonde, and she was starting to see her everywhere.

How did it happen?

How did it get to this point?

She couldn't do this, drop everything and make a fairy tale, could she?

"Darryl?"

He slowed the car, as if he knew exactly what she was about to ask. "Yes, miss?"

"Can you take me to Miss Fabray's? But stop by a flower shop first, please."

"Of course, Ms. Berry."

She could see his smile from the back of the limo.

* * *

Rachel leapt out of the car before it stopped, spying a florist cart on the side of the street. She gazed at the floors, wondering if the blonde had ever mentioned a favorite.

"I'm gonna have to charge you a little more rent than Quinn," a woman said to her companion, both leaning against the wall. Rachel glanced over, wondering if it was the same Quinn they were talking about. "…because I've got this beauty course I'm looking into. I'm not gonna be there that much, you know?"

Was it Quinn's roommate? But then the woman next to her would be the new roommate. Which would mean…Quinn had left?

"'Cause you can't—you just can't turn tricks forever. You gotta have a goal. Do you have a goal?"

"Well, I always wanted to be in the Ice Capades."

The florist approached Rachel, who was frozen in front of the large display. "Can I help you, love?"

"Those!" Rachel said suddenly, surprising herself with the certainty. "Those, please."

The woman pulled out a bundle of gardenias, tied together with a light green ribbon. She handed them to Rachel, taking her change. "There you go."

"Thank you very much," Rachel said, rushing back into the car. "Step on it, Darryl. She's leaving."

He nodded, and accelerated as much as the limo would allow him to.

Rachel glanced down at the bouquet, smiling to herself. It was like she was holding the essence of Quinn in her hands. She didn't have to try hard to picture a wedding lined with the flowers.

She could do this.

She didn't need to spin together a fairy tale, because it already was one.

It was their story.

* * *

Quinn looked around the room one last time. Her side was almost completely empty, save for a few posters and sheets that she would have Santana send to her later. Was she really doing this? Was she really leaving it all behind?

It was more nostalgia that prompted the question than the desire to stay. After the incident with Finn, she knew she'd reached her limit.

She only hoped Santana would stop soon.

A flock of birds swooped by her window, clucking and chirping in annoyance. A sharp car horn quickly followed, repeatedly. Quinn rolled her eyes, praying that there wouldn't be any asses like that in San Francisco.

The horn honked twice more right outside her apartment. She stalked over to the window, throwing aside the curtain. "Hey, you fuc—"

"Quinn!"

The blonde's mouth fell open at the sight of the brunette, poking out of the sunroof of the limo. Darryl waved at her apologetically.

"Quinn," Rachel shouted again, pulling herself out of the car and sliding down the side. She jogged below the fire escape, squinting up at the blonde. She raised her hands, presenting the flowers. "Princess Quinn! Come down!"

Quinn shook her head, amused.

Rachel groaned. "Had to be the top floor, right?"

The blonde smirked. "It's the best."

"All right," Rachel said, moving towards the rusty ladder. "I'm coming up."

She clamped the flowers in her mouth, hauling herself up the rickety fire escape. Quinn hopped out the window, laughing at Rachel's attempt to conquer her fear of heights. The brunette was muttering to herself, eyes almost shut tight. She was pressed as close to the wall as she could be, stuck a couple floors below her.

Quinn met her halfway, and Rachel managed to scale one more ladder, closing the distance between them. The blonde looked at her expectantly, taking the flowers and burying her nose into them.

Rachel took her free hand, interlacing their fingers. She gave the blonde a lopsided smile. "So what happened after she climbed up the tower and rescued her?"

Quinn looked up at her from beneath her eyelashes, and the brunette felt her knees grow weak. She was grateful when Quinn wrapped an arm around her waist, tugging her impossibly closer. Lips brushing, she whispered, "She rescues her right back."

Rachel smiled into the kiss, chuckling lightly. The blonde tugged on her lower lip, taking it between her own. The kiss was slow, pure. It reminded her of the night they'd kissed for the first time.

She pulled back, resting their foreheads together.

It wasn't a fairy tale. No one was saving anyone; there weren't any knights in shining armor or princesses letting down their braided hair.

There was just a brunette and a blonde.

And it was their story.

Below them, a man strode across the street, calling out to fellow passerbys. "Welcome to Hollywood! What's your dream? Everybody comes here. This is Hollywood, the land of dreams. Some dreams come true, some don't. But keep on dreamin'. This is Hollywood. Always time to dream, so keep on dreamin'."

* * *

**A/N: So if you didn't want an epilogue, ignore the next update.**

**A big thank you to the loyal readers & reviewers who have followed this fic all the way through. Sorry it's reaching an end, but it was fun while it lasted.**


	12. Epilogue

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

_Previously:_

_It wasn't a fairy tale. No one was saving anyone; there weren't any knights in shining armor or princesses letting down their braided hair._

_ There was just a brunette and a blonde._

_ And it was their story._

* * *

**(nine years later)**

Quinn shifted in her seat, readjusting the baby further against her chest. The noise of the crowded theatre had risen. She glanced down at their youngest child and prayed that it'd be like any other night—Noah could sleep through _anything._ Dogs barking, cars honking, thunder rolling, shrieks peaking—and when you added Rachel's voice over it, there was no chance of him waking.

"Momma, when is it gonna start?" whined Nick.

Beth nodded, clambering over the chair railing. "Yeah, we've sitted here forever."

"Sat," Quinn corrected. She ruffled the young blonde's hair, forcing her to sit back down. "It'll be on soon, I promise."

"But I want to see it _now_," Beth huffed, jutting out her bottom lip.

"You can't get everything you want," Nick argued sullenly. Quinn shook her head in amusement at the exchange; he'd been experiencing some sibling jealously as the oldest child. First Beth had gotten all the cutesy cooing, and now, with the new baby, the attention had shifted away from him again. She made a mental note to have Rachel take him out to the Central Park Zoo. He always did love the animals.

"Yes _I _can," Beth retorted, sticking out her tongue. "I'm the princess."

Nick rolled his eyes. Even from the crib, he had seemed to pick up on his mother's habit. He even had her hazel eyes to match; it had been a pleasant surprise. Neither Rachel nor Puck, their sperm donor, had them. But the recessive gene had popped up anyway, a little miracle in an already beautiful gift.

Quinn chuckled. "Guys, aren't you excited to watch Mom sing?"

"She sings all the time," Beth complained. "Why do we gotta to come here?"

"Because she's a star," Nick said, eyes lightening up. Quinn smiled at him. "And stars gotta shine on a stage."

"But why do we have to come?"

"Stars don't shine alone," Nick said, looking up at Quinn and nodding sagely.

The blonde gave him a one armed hug. "That's right, kiddo. Plus, Mom is acting out a very special play tonight."

Beth crinkled her nose. "Huh? Why's it special?"

Nick beat his mother to it, sitting up straighter in the seat. "Because Momma wrote it!"

The lights flickered above them, and the audience's murmurs dimmed to a hush. Giving their children one last glance over, Quinn exhaled, settling into her seat. It was finally real. It was finally here.

There was a cough, then the first chords of the opening number. Rachel's voice carried out over the audience, but the stage remained empty. The blonde smiled to herself, waiting for the audience to figure it out.

"_Come in close now, it's time to tell a story…_"

A few beats into the song, the spotlight broke through the darkness, and there were a few pleasant gasps as the light collided with its star.

Noah let out a little snore, and Beth and Nick cheered from their seats. Quinn bit her lip in anticipation before turning in her seat to take in her wife's blinding talent. Rachel had stepped out from the entrance, standing in the aisle and smiling brightly. Her hands were splayed out in front of her, and she leaned slightly forward, as if giving away a secret. "_Long ago and so many years before we ever were, ever dreamed we even could be, there was her and her very first heartbeat._"

The brunette winked at the audience member closest to her before skipping down to the middle of the theatre. She paused, swaying over to sit on an armrest. "_All alone in the corner of the night sky, spiral bones of a supernova starlight fell in love with another burning bright—she dreamed of a way to ignite!"_

She jumped up as the chorus kicked in, and threw up her hands, running through a row of seats. The surprised patrons quickly lifted their legs to make room for her to pass, and grinned at each other, starstruck. Quinn glanced at the stage and noticed the rest of the actors piling out onto the stage, the curtain drawing back to reveal a night sky and hillside.

Her gaze scanned the crowd, and she happily noted that her wife had stolen away the show. No one seemed to notice the scene unfolding on stage—their focus was firmly fixed on the brunette glimmering through the aisles.

"_She said, 'Tonight__, __come on, come on __collide! Break me to pieces, I, I think you're just like heaven,_" Rachel finally strutted up the rest of the way, stepping up the stairs and bringing the attention to the stage. "_Why__, __come on, come on collide! Let's see what a fire feels like—I bet it's just like heaven.'_"_  
_

She joined the other dancers in their choreography, twirling around in space as she was swung from partner to partner. Quinn watched in awe; it was unlike anything she'd imagined for her work.

It certainly didn't resemble the rough sketch she had put on in local theatre while Rachel helped the Schuesters with their Hollywood venture. But that had been years ago, the very beginning. It hadn't more than a dream in a cradle.

But they had nursed it. Rachel had surprised her and come to one of the showings. It had moved her—which was a good sign, because it was a spin off of _their_ story—and she'd picked it up right away. The two spent their nights working on it, Rachel lending her Broadway knowledge and Quinn further polishing it as she went through school, earning a playwriting major.

They'd moved back to New York after two years, Rachel pregnant with Nick. Quinn had met a songwriter on Christopher Street that Christmas, and had somehow managed to convince the stranger to collaborate on the musical. She'd written the opening number, "Cassiopeia," along with the majority of others. Rachel choreographed the numbers to them. After two years of previews in local theatres in church basements and community colleges, it was ready for back door off-Broadway shows.

She had been beginning to lose hope when a director approached her a year ago. She'd been pregnant with their third child, and was ready to succumb to the housewife she seemed destined to become. Rachel hadn't given up, though, and had been talking her sponsors' ears off about it.

In the end, many dissipated ears later, Rachel had succeeded. One of her newest sponsors attended the musical, and had gone straight for Quinn after the show to talk funding. The blonde's knees had practically buckled under her when she realized he wasn't joking.

They had sat down and picked out a cast—Rachel, of course, earning the lead. Quinn had given him most of the reigns in directing it, but he encouraged her input at every turn. And now it was all coming together—the semesters at UCLA, the years on smaller, darker stages, all those long hours of preparation—colliding to make this great, sparkling musical.

Rachel caught her wife's eye and grinned, belting out the last lines of the song. "_Long ago in a sky built before us, a supernova grew up to be stardust._"

Quinn returned the smile, eyes tearing up.

* * *

"Mom, that was awesome!" Nick said, grinning.

"Yeah, you were so _good_!" Beth exclaimed, throwing her arms around her mother. Quinn chuckled; their kids were like puppies—as soon as they head the key in the door, they went scrambling.

Rachel bent down to scoop up the little blonde and swing her around once, before putting her back down. "Thank you, my little ones!" She dropped a kiss onto their daughter's forehead.

"Hey!" Nick protested. "I'm big now."

Quinn smiled in amusement as Rachel schooled her features into a deep seriousness, pondering the situation. "You're right, buddy. But what else am I gonna call you?"

He puffed out his chest. "How about, the man?"

The blonde snorted.

Rachel smiled, tussling his hair. "Sure thing, little man."

"Ma!" He groaned, and stalked off to the TV.

Beth followed him out.

Rachel put her bag on the table and hung up her coat. "So how about that applause?"

Quinn blushed. "They were clapping for you. You put on a fantastic show."

"Which wouldn't have been possible without your script."

"Can we watch Dora?"

"_No!_"

"Why not?"

"Because big kids don't watch _Dora_."

"But _I _do!"

Rachel laughed, wrapping her arms around the blonde. "Have they been like this all day?"

Quinn pouted and leaned back against the kitchen counter. "Yes."

"I'm sorry." A corner of the brunette's lips turned up in a lazy smile. "I guess I owe you, huh?"

The blonde grinned and tugged her wife closer. "Oh, you definitely owe me."

Rachel chuckled before closing the distance. They melded together, mouths waltzing. The brunette pulled back after a moment, smirking. "You know, I would have thought that bringing your brilliant masterpiece to life would be payment enough."

"Fine," Quinn said, and tugged Rachel's neck to reconnect their mouths. She took the brunette's lower lip between her own, sucking on it slightly. Rachel let out a soft hum, and Quinn released it with a small _pop_. "Then consider tonight a thank you."

Rachel raised her eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Quinn said, and placed one last peck on her wife's lips before brushing past her to round up the kids. "But, for the record, my writing is so brilliant that _anyone_ could bring it to life."

The brunette rolled her eyes, but remained quiet, knowing she couldn't argue with the truth.

* * *

Rachel stifled a moan, running her hand through Quinn's choppy locks. "B-beth?"

"Asleep," Quinn murmured, drawing her lips away from Rachel's neck just enough to speak. "Nick?"

"Snoring," Rachel replied. "Noah?"

Quinn smiled against her throat. "Practically unconscious."

"God, I love that baby," the brunette hummed. He was nothing like his father, and the easiest to handle of all three.

"I love you," Quinn said, pulling back to look her in the eyes.

Rachel ran her hand up Quinn's arm, giving her upper arm a light squeeze. "I love you, too. I can't imagine where I'd be without you."

The blonde smirked. "Certainly not in bed, receiving a _thank you_ from the greatest, prettiest modern playwright."

"You forgot humble," Rachel muttered, smiling softly.

"Whatever," Quinn replied. She dove back in for a searing kiss, pressing their bodies together. Rachel let her hands roam down to the blonde's hips, where she managed to use leverage to flip them. Her wife chuckled, looking up at her, hair splayed across the pillows. Rachel smiled, taking a moment to commit the image to memory. Almost a decade later and Quinn hadn't changed a bit.

"What?" the blonde asked.

"You're beautiful," Rachel said, ignoring the swat she received in return and leant down to kiss her slowly. Quinn matched the rhythm, sliding her hands down Rachel's shoulders to dip around to her stomach and circle back to her waist. She opened her legs a little, inching them further apart, and the brunette settled between them. Rachel pulled back slightly so that she could trail open mouthed kisses along Quinn's neck and jaw. She made her way to the blonde's ear, planting a butterfly kiss over it. Quinn let out a light squeak at the sensation, scrunching up her nose in laughter. Rachel nibbled on the lobe, her breath cool against the blonde's neck.

Quinn cupped Rachel's cheek, drawing her back to her lips. They continued the same slow, iambic beat the brunette had started, matching their thudding hearts. Quinn ran her tongue along her lower lip, and Rachel parted her mouth in return. The blonde entered hesitantly, as if there was still new ground to explore even after all the years.

But it wasn't uncharted territory to either of them. Rachel shifted her hand to the crook of Quinn's rib cage, tracing light circles into the divots. She felt the skin twitch beneath her skin, and she knew it wouldn't be long until—there—Quinn shuddered.

Rachel shifted, tangling their legs. She had moved onto the blonde's neck again, this time inching down to her chest. Quinn let her eyelids fall shut at the sensation, in the anticipation of what would come next. The kissing was teasing, moving lower only to raise again, as if the brunette had decided she'd missed a spot.

The blonde bit her lip, dropping her hand from the brunette's waist to the top over her thigh, rubbing patterns into the backside. Distracted at first, Rachel grew accustomed to the added contact and returned to her game, not yet dipping down to the mounds just below her nose.

Quinn smirked to herself before pulling out the big guns. She traced one last heart shape into Rachel's leg, suddenly sliding it to the inside of her wife's thighs, hand cupping her core. The brunette froze, lips against her collarbone. A small moan escaped her lungs.

"_Quinn_," Rachel said, eyes snapping up to meet her wife's taunting gaze.

"Yes?"

"_Quinn_," the brunette repeated, sinking further against her.

The blonde quirked an eyebrow. "You were taking too long."

"_You spend too much time with the kids_," Rachel muttered, incoherent enough that Quinn didn't catch it. Still, she couldn't stop her hips from bucking forward for more pressure. She hadn't realized how much she had wanted it, too.

Quinn's hips uplifted to collide in response, and Rachel fell into the dance they'd found many times before. Her head lifted, mouth closing around one of Quinn's breasts and her free hand slipped down to the blonde's center. Quinn arched her back, willing for more contact. She almost forgot where her own hand was, and was reminded with an increase of heat.

Rachel peered up from her position, seeing her wife look at her through hooded eyelids. The brunette climbed back to kiss her wife on the lips. "Ready?"

"Always."

* * *

The blonde curled into Rachel's side, head resting on her chest. Her eyes fluttered shut, limbs growing heavy. They were getting too old for multiple climaxes. It took longer to catch her breath, though Quinn couldn't be sure if that was just the brunette's effect on her. They used to stay up talking sweet nonsense in the aftermath. But now, it was a valiant attempt just to keep her eyes open. She knew the brunette understood; she usually fell asleep first. But the buzz from the stage adrenaline was probably still cycling through her blood. It hit her every opening night, despite the experience now tucked under her belt.

The brunette watched Quinn fall asleep, the final song of the musical crossing her mind. "_We are not perfect__, __we'll learn from our mistakes__ a__nd as long as it takes__I will prove my love to you__.__ I am not scared of the elements,__ I am underprepared, but I am willing__—a__nd even better__I get to be the other half of you__._"

The lyrics ghosted over the blonde's head, further easing her into sleep. She smiled softly into her wife's chest as the final lines stretched out over them like a blanket.

_ "Tell the world that we finally got it all right__. __I choose you__. __I will become yours and you will become mine__, __I choose you__. __I choose you._"

**THE END**

* * *

**A/N: The song lyrics weren't me—god, I wish—but off Sara Bareilles's new album, The Blessed Unrest. **_(First one: "Cassiopeia," second one: "I Choose You") _**[I imagined the second one more acoustic than the studio version]**

**Thanks again to all of you!**


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